#working up the courage to try and go with them

[paperaddictionss]

Bakugou Katsuki~

Your First Fight.

“Are you even listening to me?” You scoff shaking your head in annoyance, of course he wasn’t listening to you he was lay down on the couch with his hands over his face.

Bakugou groans underneath his hands, rolling his eyes, “i’m tired from my mission y/n, it’s not that i’m not listening to you but the last thing i want to be hearing when i get home is you complaining,” he argued back.

You clenched your jaw, “you think i like you trudging through the door late at night, while i’m worrying all night if you’re okay? You think i like complaining at you?” You ask throwing the tea towel down on the kitchen counter.

“If you don’t like it so much then why do you do it?” He snapped slightly sitting up knowing he wasn’t gonna find peace in the living room.

“Because i am just trying to tell you how i feel! Even if that is complaining!” You yell frustrated and annoyed.

“Well don’t!” Bakugou angrily snaps back, not thinking before he speaks, he already knew it was too late and he shouldn’t have said what he did- he was just exhausted.

You pause, took back slightly before scoffing shaking your head, “forget i said anything, you clearly don’t care enough about me trying to communicate how somethings made me feel,” you grumble not wanting to shout at each other anymore.

He gets up heading towards the bedroom, you squint your eyes, “walking away, so mature,” you mutter under your breath. He heard you but decided to keep a level head and be quiet, entering the room before shutting it behind him.

Your first fight. Your first ever fight. The feeling was weird for both of you, it was almost bitter and definitely hurtful. Bakugou’s words seeped into your skin like salt on an opened wound, you winced as the moment replayed back in your head. Did he really mean that?

You sat down on one of the kitchen stalls, placing your head into your hands. An empty, unwelcoming, tense vibe filling their apartment. It wasn’t one that had ever been in your apartment so the feeling was foreign and strange. You wished for it to be over.

Bakugou sat on the edge of the bed, rethinking what he said. Why did he say that? Guilt poured into his body and flooded his entire being, he did want to listen to how you felt and he did want you to communicate with him. So why did he say that?

When you see fights in movies they don’t tell you how much it actually hurts, how much it brings misery into your mind. So you were both equally just as shocked by how much the small row had affected you both, each in different ways.

You were upset and hurt by what he said and his lack of listening to you, he was upset by how instead of a ‘how are you?’, ‘how was work?’ it was straight into complaining.

The atmosphere was suffocating, unbearable even but neither of you had the courage to go up to each other. Not yet. It was too soon. Too raw. So instead, Bakugou sat on the edge of his bed drowning in guilt while you teared up, everything becoming too overwhelming.

You tried to stop the tears from flowing down your eyes, it felt stupid. You sobbed quietly in the kitchen, looking to where he was lay.

Bakugou’s head lifted rapidly when he heard your small cries, his heart racing. He had done that, he quickly swallowed his pride, he didn’t care if it was too soon he needed to make sure you were okay. So, he got up opening the door and walking to you. His heart shattering when he saw the tears in your eyes. You tried to dismiss them but it was already too late.

You both stared at each other in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Bakugou was the first to crumble, his voice cracking as he spoke, “i’m so sorry.”

You sniffle wiping away the last of your tears, or what you thought were the last, “i’m sorry too, i hate this feeling. I hate that we fought over something so small too,” you apologised all you wanted to do was be in his arms.

Bakugou’s eyes softened but the guilt still remained, while anger burned at the back of his throat. He was angry at himself for making you feel this way. He was angry for hurting the most important person in his life. He was angry he let his anger win.

He stepped closer looking down for permission to see if you were okay to be touched or needed space but with a small nod of your head he wasted no time bringing you into his chest. His arms wrapping securely around you, scared to let go.

“I’m so sorry, I should never have made you feel that way. I didn’t mean what i said, i promise i do wanna hear about your day, i do want you to communicate with me,” he explained stroking her hair gently as a lump formed in his throat.

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat as soon as you got through the door, i know how stressful your missions are and i didn’t even bother asking you,” you mumbled into his chest but he still heard, you grabbed onto the back of his shirt pulling him closer to you, clinging onto him like your life depended on it. He was all you ever needed in this world and you never wanted to lose him.

“I love you so much,” he hummed as tears brimmed his eyes from the guilt but also from the immense amount of love he had for you. He placed small soft kisses on top of your head.

“I love you more Katsuki.”

And just like that the once eerie, cold, unsettling atmosphere that once lingered in your apartment; returned back to its usual warm, comfortable, loving atmosphere.

[iwanty0uu]

Party Shot~

Eren Jeager x Y/n mdni..nsfw-oral sex

There was something about that leopard print dress that adorned you, fabric clinging tightly to your body almost as if it was afraid to let you go. The clear sequins created a slight shimmer, reflecting off of the lights in the dimly lit house party. What a classic. He watched you like a hawk, carefully admiring you move whilst you floated through the buzzing jam packed halls with such elegance. He loved how fancy you looked hair freshly blown out and bouncy like Hilary Banks, hips swaying the way your aunties would tell you was too grown, you’ve evolved into one hell of a woman, you defied luxury. His attentive staring could have been mistaken for a glare of envy from an outsider, but he couldn’t help but watch as your red lined lips pressed onto the temple of your friend, leaving a red stain on her pale skin as she captured the aesthetic moment with a smile.

“Sashh you look so good in that!” You hands naturally found their way to your curls,throwing them effortlessly over your shoulder, he always admired your tasteful demeanor because that was just who you were, you never had to try to be boujie.

“ Omg send when you upload the file from ur digital cam I swear you’re gonna wake up n it’s gonna be gone! Im stealin that shit.” you exclaim, laughter vibrating in your throat. It’s been a while since you felt this free,holding the girl close but her mind was far. Sasha’s brown eyes sparkled, darting from your own pair to the ones that stalked you from afar..

“Y/n, don’t move..but I think I see sumn lookin at you from out that window..” Eren wasn’t your ex, but a failed talking stage, he promised to get his shit together but took too long, and you had shit to do.

Your own pair of hazel eyes did a 360 in your head making Sasha laugh, she loved your expressive attitude. Long brown arms now crossed in front of your chest pushing your breasts upwards more. Even Sash could resist to sneak a glance.

“I’ll be right back baby girl I’ll text you if anything hmm?” You say to her, holding her hand and taking a champagne glass filled with whatever ungodly blend of alcohol out of her other, pouting as your lips kissed the cup, sipping the remains.You could already tell it was gonna be a long night.

His eyes widened as he watched you stare at your feet, almost as if you were curious to see where they were taking you. He adjusted his top, brushing the ashes off his jeans and straighted his watch to look up at you.

“I-”

“Cut the small talk”, you stated abruptly, black polished finger lifting his chin as his eyes trailed from your chest, to your lips, and nose, to your…forehead?

He was nervous, big bad Eren Jeager was nervous.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he finally gained the courage to look at you while you closer to him. Your ‘Good Girl’ perfume struck his nose even more, just smelling you alone felt like he was getting off..

“I don’t have on any panties…”

His tongue moved like clock work, swirling and sucking your bud, fingers pumping in and out of you as if he were eager for you to praise him. He couldn’t help but whine as he craved more, but your black heels over his shoulders, dangerously close to his head made him remember who you were. He knew you wouldn’t give it up easily so he settled for all he got, and planned to palm himself to the thought of his fucking your cunt with his face, tongue piercing smacking your soft clit making you jolt in shock, squeezing your thighs together.

“Shit-againn”

You demand as he traced the metal around your entrance, and then back up to your pearl, gently nibbling away as your hips bucked furiously. That little leopard dress was hiked up to your waist. His rough hands gripped your hips as your stomach caved, holding your breath while you reached your high. Your delicate fingers found their way to your nipples, pinching them as you moaned loud enough for the party to hear over the loud ass music, slipping a nip into your mouth, you squeezed and tickled yourself with your tongue, forgetting Eren who was suffocating happily in between your thighs.

It’s been some time since you had some fun, and the night was just getting started…~❤︎︎

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part 2

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

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 15.2k

Requested: No | Yes

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

Part One

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

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

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

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

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

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction

* * *

Louisville Retreat

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

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

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

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

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

"About work," she corrected automatically.

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

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

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

Aaron nodded slowly. "Because of the model?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Different how?" Matt asked.

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

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

"What?" Y/N demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

The Buffer System

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Joe Tries to Reconnect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

The Professional Mask

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something like that," Y/N conceded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

January 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late January 2025 - Playoff Elimination Weekend

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

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

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

"And Burrow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exit interviews done?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The response came quickly.

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

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

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

The response was immediate.

Joe: Whatever you need to tell yourself.

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

Y/N: Have a good offseason, Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

February 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N shrugged. “It’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late February 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Y/N demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Any promising prospects?" Aaron asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

March 2025 - Downtown Cincinnati

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That bad?"

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

"Because they're not—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was more than ready.

* * *

Late March 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And from a certain quarterback situation?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Mid-April 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Evolved how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Same Day - Hallway Encounter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late April 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

May 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

June 2025 - Team Charity Event

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N laughed. "I always do."

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

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

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

Eventually, she reached table eleven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taking a break?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have other tables to shoot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t lying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There you are!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still, it didn’t change the facts.

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

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

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

* * *

June 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N: Cafeteria in 15

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if that never happens?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Questions?" she asked, concluding her presentation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

July 2025 - Training Camp Preparation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, she found herself typing a direct email:

Joe,

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

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

Y/N

The response came less than ten minutes later:

Y/N,

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

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

Joe

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

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

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

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

"What look?"

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want to leave?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still. Strange timing to mention it."

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

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

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

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

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

The response came quickly:

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

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

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

"Got a minute?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It is."

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

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

"Thank you for saying that."

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

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

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

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

Part Three

[twistedpink]

Mommy And Me!! (Aka the milfsperience/your torrid love affair with the many mothers of your small town) @bju3c0re

Moving in next to Dylla Spade means the bad kind of summer heat, that new house smell, and your husband deciding on takeout for dinner- there’s a knock on the door soon after all the boxes are away, and your sweat stain addled brain completely shuts down in the face of the hottest delivery driver you’ve ever seen. She looks at you and vice versa, expecting cash/a proposal respectively. You’re such a mess that your sweet, homewrecking husband pays instead- you feel yourself going catatonic at the sound of her making small talk (Her voice alone proves some people are just god’s favourites).. Taking a glance downwards, (skipping eye contact to the best of your ability) you spy an empty ring finger. Finally thinking for the first time in an hour, you decide to definitely work on those ‘marry me cookies’ for tomorrow.. You know, to pay her back properly <3

Book club with Rosetta Rosehearts earns you loads of special privileges- free food and labour’s no problem when you’re out with her in town, she hands out parenting advice like candy (not that you’re inclined to follow it), and you get to look at those baby blues for hours while she’s nose deep in your book of the week <3 The ONLY reason she tolerates your middle school pining is that your taste in thriller’s godlike, and with your reputation, she’s even tempted to read the.. Friskier of your picks, but that’s reserved for a night with far better wine and kissproof lipstick <3

Getting drowned by Georgina Leech at the public pool is a weekly occurrence, but it’s hardly her fault- there’s something about that woman doing aerobics that’s breathtaking, and it just so happens that water has the same effect after a couple minutes :) You’re lucky she’s in love with your sorry self enough to pull you out with how waterlogged and pathetic you must look, but she doesn’t blame your human brain- in fact, she might even think it’s,, Cute. In a prey animal kind of way, but cute nonetheless. If you ever find the courage to pull her under the waves, she’ll appreciate the change in tides, and let you be the hunter for once <3

Working for Maleanor Draconia really just means working her up, but she won’t even try firing you for it- love is war, and she’s way too rich to die!! There’s nobody who spoils you like Mel can, simply because you don’t have time for anyone else when she’s in charge of your schedule :( She draws her harshest lines about dating outside the company- always talking about how she needs you 24/7 for you to be even half of the assistant Raverne was, and after his disappearance, you’re not exactly excited to defy her,, So long as you’re all soft and sweet for her, she’ll keep her claws away (unless you ask for them) <3

[captainpriceslilwife]

pt. 3 of gaz x insecure!reader :)))))

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

He’s late.

He went through all that trouble of convincing you of how genuine he was about taking you on a date, just to be late. 

He just wanted to do something nice for you. Something to actually make you smile in his presence instead of tense up or cry, but the universe seems to work against him when it comes to making you happy. Which is how he ended up here – desperately trying to buy flowers from the old Scottish woman on the street corner that he’s certain has been around since the Cambrian age. He really needs to stop taking Johnny’s advice. 

“How much for the sunflowers, ma’am?” He’s been trying to be as polite as he can, but the poor woman doesn’t seem to notice how his hand is tapping nervously at his thigh or how he checks his watch every two seconds. She just hobbles around with a smile, pointing at all of the other flowers on her stand and telling him some long-winded story of her youth about each of them.

“Eh?” Oh, and she was deaf in one ear. Something that wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t have to keep repeating himself every single time he asked a question. “Wha’ did ye say, luvie?”  “The sunflowers.” He enunciates impatiently as he leans towards her right ear, only for her to blink in confusion at him. “How much?”  A wide smile breaks out on her face as she gestures to the bucket of sunflower bouquets, and Kyle softens a bit now that he thinks he can finally finish this up. Maybe he might even make it on time if he really books it…

 “Ah, ye can take as many as ye’d like!” 

Christ.

“No, no-“ A tense sigh escapes his lips as he takes out his wallet, trying to get it in her frame of vision before he loses her attention again. “Money. How much money?” But she’s not even looking at him anymore. Her white, fluffy brows are furrowed like she’s deep in thought, and she’s got her eye on one of the giant displays of pink and red flowers next to him. “Say, didn’ ye say this is fer yer girl? Ah still think she’d like some roses instead…more romantic, ya ken? Ah’ve got plenty different ones for ye, just gimme a wee second. Ye really should take a look-”  “No, ma’am, please…I-I don’t have a second.” He’s starting to wonder if he should just give up, but the thought of showing up late and empty-handed makes him feel so guilty that it makes his stomach lurch. “Please, I just want to pay for the…” But it’s too late. She’s already toddled off behind the cart, hunched over and spouting some story about how her late husband bought her roses every Sunday. “…the sunflowers.” 

He can only imagine what you must be thinking right now. 

And then there’s you. 

You, who had gotten up embarrassingly early that morning to get ready for your date. You had cursed yourself for agreeing to meet him so early as you rushed around your room, trying to pick out an outfit and do your hair in a way that made you feel like you looked alright without drawing too much attention to yourself. You had changed five times – constantly questioning if you looked like you put too much effort in – so you put even more effort into dulling yourself down. 

You even had to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror before you could gather the courage to leave the house. 

You’re okay. This is okay. This is what normal people do. They go on dates. If he sucks, you can just leave! That’s allowed…yeah…yeah, I can just leave. And I look good…I look…great. It’s his loss! Well, he hasn’t lost anything yet, but-

And now here you were – poor thing. All alone at one of the tables in the corner with a cup of coffee in front of you.

You were already a ball of nervous energy when you had walked in – messing with your hair and fixing your outfit every couple of seconds as you hovered around the entrance, looking around and waiting for him. You lit up when you're phone dinged with a notification, but your smile fell as quickly as it came when you read the words. 'I'm running a bit late, but I'll be there soon, I swear'

Oh.

It really is a prank. He’s not coming.

You could feel your hands trembling as you looked down at your phone, feeling utterly betrayed as those tiny black words stared back at you. 

What’s even worse is the fact that you realize that you feel betrayed by yourself, not him. You should have known better; you should have known that this would happen. Your brain preens at the realization that it was right – you weren’t someone worth his time - but your heart begins to develop that familiar ache it's gotten so accustomed to.

‘I’m so sorry, love. I’m nearly there, I promise.’

You can feel your eyes begin to brim with tears, but you can hear a tiny little voice in the back of your head telling you to wait for him - just to see. Maybe he really is running late. Maybe something came up. Maybe he's just as nervous as you are and he took to long to get ready.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Maybe you're just the idiot that can't seem to learn her lesson.

You take in a sharp inhale, steeling yourself as much as you can as you slip your phone into your purse, ignoring the incessant buzzing coming from within as you make your way inside the coffee shop.

You had spent so long getting ready - you weren't about to go home and waste all of your hard work just because of some idiot guy. No...you'd get yourself the coffee that you had been excited for.

Because you're all you have.

All you'll ever have, apparently.

You try to seem casual as you place your order, but even the barista can hear the waver in your voice and the way you look around the coffee shop, like you're waiting for some hidden group of friends to come out and laugh at you - the punchline to some sick joke.

But nothing comes, except for your coffee, which you take and shuffle over to some secluded corner where you can wallow on your own. Luckily for you, nobody seems to pay you any mind, even when the tears you had been holding back finally begin to slip down your cheeks and you have to take a sip your coffee to stop the sob that threatens to escape from your lips.

You're so lost in your own thoughts that you don't notice his form sprinting past the window beside you, but your head snaps up when the bell above the door jangles abruptly and the door slams against the wall.

Your heart practically leaps from your chest when you see how disheveled he looks - chest heaving as he wipes the sweat from his forehead, and he has...flowers. Sunflowers, to be specific. Your favorite.

He brought you flowers?

He stands in the doorway - ignoring the disapproving look that the barista sends his way as his head swivels around to look for you.

You begin to wipe at your tears hastily, partially hiding yourself from view as you curse quietly to yourself for ruining the makeup you had worked so hard on that morning.

Once his eyes land on you, you can see his eyes flash with relief before he begins to make his way over to you - murmuring politely 'excuse me' 'sorry, love' 'right behind you, darling' as he pushes through the tables that lie between the two of you.

“You’re still here! Oh thank god…here.” He pants breathlessly, holding out the sunflowers, which you take hesitantly – and he tries not to fall to his knees to beg for forgiveness when he sees the red rim beneath your eyes, or when he hears you sniffle quietly. "Oh, god, love…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I-"

You wave your hand pathetically, trying to brush off the fact that you had been crying - but for some reason you can't stop your lip from wobbling once more, though this time it was because of something you've never felt before. Something you couldn't name. But it felt like some old version of you was finally getting what she deserved.

Someone who actually liked her.

And poor Kyle - he can see how you're eyes are growing glossy again, and he thinks he's ruined absolutely everything.

"Ah, shit…” He motions to the bouquet pathetically, silently trying to communicate why it took him so long to get there, but he feels more and more like an idiot the longer he looks at it. 

It’s not enough. 

Maybe if he was late because of a thousand bouquets, he’d feel less guilty, but right now? Seeing you with tears streaming down your pretty face? 

He wishes someone had run him over when he ran through oncoming traffic to get to you.

“Flowers. I was just trying to bring you flowers, a-and the woman – she was so old.” He blubbers, clearly still out of breath as he rests his hands against his hips, but he still scrambles over himself to try to explain the situation – honestly, he feels like he might faint with how flustered he is. “I wanted to do something nice for you, you know? Just to, you know...make up for everything. A-And I asked my idiot friend for advice, and I swear he must have it out for me – recommending a family friend…a bloody Mrs. Gillies-“

And the whole time he’s stumbling over his words, he’s just waiting for the moment where you stand up and throw those flowers right back in his face. Maybe your coffee for good measure. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, but his rambling immediately comes to a halt when he sees your wobbling lips stretch into a smile. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. 

Why on earth are you smiling?

He’s frozen in shock as he blinks down at you, and he swears his heart comes to a stop when you choke out a little laugh. 

Oh, god, he’s done it now. You’ve lost it. He’s gone and made you absolutely lose your mind. 

Your teary eyes meet his, and you give him a pitiful, watery smile that knocks the wind right out of him like a swift punch to the gut. It’s not until you open your mouth that his hands stop shaking, and he finally understands what mercy feels like.

“Mrs. Gillies?” You giggle out through your tears, bringing your hand up to wipe at your damp cheeks. You don’t seem like you’re mad at him. You should be, honestly – even he’s mad at himself. “Oh...well, no wonder you were late. She’s, uh…certainly a talker. I used to work with her when I was a teenager…surprised she’s still alive, honestly.”

He’s never felt himself relax so quickly in his life. 

His shoulders drop as he lets out a breathless chuckle, thanking whatever god was listening that he hasn’t entirely screwed this up. He rubs the back of his neck nervously before he sits down across from you, flashing you a smile that shows how guilty he’s still feeling.

“God, I feel like such a prick. She just kept going on and on and I was losing my head thinking of you waiting on me, so I just…I just left her fifty quid and took the flowers while her back was turned.” 

The laugh you let out is music to his ears, and he swears he must look like a love-struck puppy as he watches you lift your hand to cover up your sweet smile. One that he had worked so hard to try to pull out of you, even if you're still wiping the leftover tears away from your eyes.

He’ll get you to stop hiding it soon.

“You know, I bet she hasn’t even noticed that you left.” You keep your voice low as you lean in, like you’re scared she’ll somehow hear you speaking poorly of her, but it doesn’t stop you from giggling quietly to yourself. “She’s probably talking to a couple of lilies right now, thinking it’s you.” 

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smirk as his eyes roam over your face, trying to take in every detail of the gorgeous smile pulling at your lips - the one that he finally gets the privilege to see. “Lilies? I’ll be honest, love, I always struck myself as the rose type.”

It’s such a stupid joke – one that he silently curses himself for the second it leaves his mouth – but you laugh so genuinely that he feels like the sun has burrowed itself in his chest. He knows he's gone the moment he realizes he'd do anything in the world to hear that sound spill from your lips just one more time.

“You look gorgeous, by the way. Absolutely stunning. Did you- you curled your hair didn't you? It looks nice..."

And instead of tensing up like you did before when he tried to compliment you, your smile turns shy and you hide your blush behind your mug as you take a sip - murmuring a bashful 'thank you' in response.

He feels like he could take over the bloody world with the way his chest swells in pride.

But his eyes flit down to your drink as you place it back down on the table, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear as you try to work up the courage to glance back up at him.

"That the drink I owe you?" He nudges his chin to gesture towards the coffee in your hands, still feeling a slight pang of guilt in his chest for being late and making you doubt yourself, and him.

But you just shrug your shoulders and give him a playful smile - one that makes his knees grow weak and his heart grow three sizes in his chest. "Should've been here on time."

Now it's his turn to laugh, and he shakes his head as he leans his arms against the table to tilt himself closer to you. "I should've. It's a shame, really...making an angel like you wait on me."

You let out a quiet scoff and roll your eyes, but there's no malice in it - especially when you sport another bright blush and supressed smile.

"Guess I still owe you, then." He murmurs softly, a bit more genuinely - just to show how serious he is about you.

He watches as you cast a glance over at the bright yellow bouquet you had propped up on the seat beside you, and he can see how hot your cheeks are, even as you hide your smile behind your hand - and he can’t help but smile along with you. He’d listen to that old woman talk for days just to fill every room in your place with sunflowers if it meant he could see that look on your face every time he saw you. 

"I guess you do." You nod coyly as you run your thumb over the lip of your mug, finally pulling your eyes up to meet his. "You'll have to make it up to me next time...and don't be late."

Next time.

He huffs out another relieved laugh, already melting under your gaze as he brings his eyes up to meet yours.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love."

A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait for this! I hit a block halfway through and was struggling to get my thoughts into words, but I hope this was okay! I’m not sure that there would be another part after this, unless some specific scenario between the two of them was requested. I also thought abt doing some random blurbs or headcannons with the two of them but idk! also the amount of Gaz + sunflower content I saw while writing this was insane. I’d like to think that everyone was blasted with a universal divine imagery of Gaz with sunflowers and everyone did their own thing and it’s all magical. Though, I also felt like I was going insane seeing everyone’s content bc I thought I was manifesting it. Anyway.

Taglist: @vixyyvix, @little-mini-me-world, @miyo-0oo, @milanriol, @z-wantstowrite, @nexthyperfix, @minminiie, @just-pure-trash, @the-ferret-of-fandoms, @my-anime-garden, @doinstime, @kaoyamamegami, @my-fandom-space   (I did keep the ppl from the first part tagged even though it wasn’t requested, hope that's ok :)!)

[love-and-mothman]

First scenario, first time posting my writing! This prompt is taken from this https://www.tumblr.com/kaiist/780734088188428288/ post by @kaiist please check it out because without them, I would have never gotten the courage to write, and they're really good! (Also, I apologize for the 3rd person, I cannot get my brain to figure out 2nd for the life of me.)

Without further rambling, How the LaDs boys react when you accidentally break something of theirs:

~~~~~Xavier~~~~~

If it was a mission, The Hunter was determined to complete it to perfection no matter how silly, so when Xavier asked her to wake him up? She was going to do it right. Finding the spare /key/ was the first challenge but once inside things went smoothly. The first attempt at getting Xavier up, he managed to keep his eyes open for 5 minutes. A new record for him waking up. Not enough to stay awake though, so, the next plan? Coffee.

Finding the beans was easy, from there it seemed like everything else would go smoothly. Even if the coffee maker seemed ancient to her, she could figure it out. After a moment of experimenting, water poured into the mug through the espresso puck. Before the soft drip turned into a loud screech, then a whistle, before stopping completely. Officially dying letting out residual groans as the final bits of water splashed out.

“What was that?” Xavier walked out rubbing his eyes, before staring down at his broken coffee maker, then on The Hunter; her gaze locked onto the piece of machinery as if taking it apart.

“I- ….It just happened. I don't even. “ She huffed and glared at it, words escaping her- torn between frustration at the machine, and herself. All before she glared at him, not truly upset, but looking for an outlet, “It's too ancient to function anyway.”

“Is that meant to be an apology or an accusation?” His steps were unhurried as he walked beside her, easily accepting her frustration as he attempted to work out what had happened.

“I don't know.” She confessed, “I'm sorry…I didn’t mean to.” Her voice was small, barely audible as the machine finally let out its last whistle before turning off.

“It's ancient.” He repeated back, if only to see her nod and look less defeated. “I'm sure somewhere I have a guide to fix it.”

“Are you even qualified to?” The glare softened to a look of curiosity, the same one she often had when engaging with Xavier.

“I'm sure I have a degree…somewhere?”

“Wait- why aren't you just replacing it?! I'll pay for it.” She sputtered out grabbing at his hoodie tightly.

“And food?” Finally, The Hunter's self pitying look was fully replaced with fond exasperation- much better suited to her. “Hot pot. You did break my coffee maker after all.” He couldn't help but tease.

“I did. Only, if you let me get you one that doesn't look like it was made before Linkon was founded.”

“Sure.” He yawned once more, sure coffee would be nice, or more sleep. But she wasn't going to take ‘it's fine’ for an answer, and Xavier couldn't give up spending more time with her with what little he had.

~~~~~Zayne~~~~~

Running through the train station trying to catch the train she should've caught 20 minutes ago, was not The Hunter's idea of fun. Of course she had no control over her alarm not going off, or her gun taking forever to service at the association, nor the foot traffic at the station itself. She could only pray that Zayne had left safely and she could give him his jacket when they met up at the mountain again. He was already so cold, and as much as she teased him, she didn't want him to /literally/ freeze.

Once her feet finally touched the solid ground of the metal train she finally allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Relaxing just barely, she had to pray it wasn't too late, but the slight reprieve was worthy of slight relaxation. Zayne's coat laid folded in her lap, she watched the scenery change from the bustle of city life to snowy and rural. The view however, was thoroughly ignored as she over-thought their schedule, scrolling on her watch to make sure her tardiness wouldn't disrail plans too much. It wasn't til the train reached the station and she stood up things went wrong. A stray piece of metal on the seat wasn't fully secured, as she stood, she was forced to watch the once pristine coat gain an extra hole it shouldn't have.

Of course she planned to walk to William's house to meet up with Zayne, and planned to borrow his jacket for it till they met; alas it seemed like luck wasn't on her side. Instead she spent the walk overthinking all the things she could do to apologize while freezing cold and nervous. Wondering if a hunter's salary could even cover a surgeon's tastes no matter how modest they were, and if she could repay it in cake.

“You're late are you alr-” Her footsteps must have given her away, Zayne turned to face her. It gave her a perfect view to watch his expression go from relaxed, to mildly pinched. It was subtle, but far too obvious for those fluent in Zayne. His steps were measured and efficient as he walked to her side, feeling her cheeks between his palms silently even as she flushed and sighed in embarrassment.

“Zayne.”

The call was meant with a simple hum, far too focused on checking her fingers, they were too red, too cold.

“Zayne. I need to apologize.”

“For ignoring doctor's orders?” His voice was clinical, more “Doctor Zayne” less her "Zayne”.

“I didn't mean to but I ripped your coat.” She bit against her lip, the pink skin turning white as she tried to meet his gaze.

“My-” He finally looked down at her, noticing the anxiety hidden in her faux nonchalant expression. It wasn't like he didn't notice the fabric between her arms; but it was just that, fabric, not the person shivering and red.

“I'll buy you cake.” She said quickly, insistent on the matter to alleviate unnecessary guilt.

He sighed, she was once again ignoring what really mattered. She could've gotten hypothermia walking in the snow from the station. It was a jacket, he had what felt like hundreds; there was only one of her. “How about sitting in front of the fire before we leave.”

“And that-”

“And we'll consider this repayment /and/ doctors orders.” A small smile graced his face, he wasn't mad, he hoped she didn't think he was. So when she smiled up at him mischief once again filling her eyes he felt relieved.

“I'm terrible at following those.”

“But as repayment for my coat?”

“I guess I can try.”

~~~~~Rafayel~~~~~

It took a lot of pushing, but finally she managed to get Rafayel to actually *do* his work; forcing him to talk to Thomas about the newest gallery. This left her alone in the studio, a place she rarely found herself in /alone/. Forced to stare down at the large amounts of paintings, both in progress and finished pieces. She didn't fully understand art in the way Rafayel did, most of the time she wasn't sure they were speaking the same language; but it was something she could appreciate anyway. As her eyes danced around each and every canvas she finally spotted something new, a silver frame just barely visible behind a curtain.

Unable to ignore the siren call of the unknown she hurriedly went to crouch in front of it, moving the curtain. As her hand went to brace against the wall she was only met with it sliding through the canvas. A hole in what was once the skyline of Linkon at sunset. She couldn't bring herself to move, her hand bracing against the wall, through the painting, but at least she was stable so she did not ruin more. She had to think strategically before she moved and made it worse. Slowly, she turned her hand before pushing her arm back out. Maybe it was a lost cause, but she couldn't take back what had happened. It wasn't till it her hand was safely on the other side, that she finally let herself assess the damage; her stomach dropping as it occurred to her just how unfixable it was. Her heart raced as she heard footsteps come back into the studio.

“Cutie?” Rafayel's voice finally reached her ears as the door opened. The gentle nickname only managed to pull more concrete guilt from her stomach, rooting her more into place.

“Oh- the feature piece!” Thomas sounded stressed, it wasn't malicious The Hunter was sure of that, but it felt her gut was punctured by a wanderer.

“I-” Words failed her as she tried to think of the right thing to say, if it was a genuine apology or a joke.

Before she could even decide on what would be best, Rafayel spoke again, “I agree.”

“What?” Both the hunter and Thomas whipped around to look at Rafayel, his face only revealing a smile as his hand rested on his chin.

“I also thought I could've done better too, who would've thought Ms.Bodyguard paid enough attention to my ramblings to realize it on her own. In fact…”

With a snap of his fingers a fire caught on the edge of a painting still on the easel, burning a hole through the canvas. Leaving the others in the room shocked as hours of work burned away in front of their eyes.

“I should redo the whole collection.” Rafayel pondered aloud, his back turned away from the hunter so as to not betray his expression before the performance finished.

“Wait- no don't they were good! I don't know a thing about art!” She scrambled to grab onto Rafayel and nullify his evol before the whole studio of works crumbled.

As the preformance was forcibly ended early, he turned around unable to stop more joyous laughs escaping his lips. To him, the paintings didn't matter as much as wiping that shocked look off her face. If he had to, more would've been destroyed; at least till she finally realized one ruined piece meant nothing.

~~~~~Sylus~~~~~

Luke and Kirean had become regular friends to hangout with in the mildly overwhelming, ever growing list of people in The Hunter's social circle. Whether it was simply kitty cards, pranking Sylus, or any number of ideas they considered “fun”. There was always something to do. Today was no exception, together they ran through the shelves of vinyls in Sylus’ collection, sure they had no real measure of music in the first place- but they knew enough to judge a few “vintage” pieces.

“I know this one!” The Hunter exclaimed with joy as her fingers grabbed onto a case pulling it off the shelf. Finally in the sea of opera and classics, something modern and recognizable.

“Ah, the boss’ pet is still so smart.” Luke spoke from behind her, a laugh stuck in his throat; amused by her shocked expression.

Rolling her eyes she turned it over to look at the list of songs. The swift moment just enough to give everyone a front row view of the record rolling out of the case- and shattering on the floor.

“Decorating the floor now, kitten?” Sylus’ voice appeared from behind her. Immediately, she whipped around yet all she could see was his red eyes. The twins must've ran once they heard Sylus to avoid trouble.

“I-” Her hands gripped tighter to the empty cardboard her heart raced as she tried to huridly think of something to say, “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” He braced his hands against her hips, gazing into her eyes, measuring how far he could push her before he couldn't stand her sorrow.

“We were just looking, I can replace it.” Her words spoke pinched off, quiet. It was already too much to bare, his fun needed to be cut short today it seemed.

“Replace it?” He watched her face blanch before he sighed softly, “I can buy the whole store kitten.” He would, for her if she wanted him to. She didn't need to stress about one record. It was simple child's play to him, he loved her- it was only natural to cover for mistakes.

“I can't just let you pay for something I broke.” She huffed her cheeks out, her pride ruffled and her mind thoroughly switched from guilt, to trying to prevent his dominating of the conversation. It was cute the way she thought she didn't already have him wrapped around her finger.

“How about you sing me the songs off it instead, I heard you say you knew them?” He countered, ever the master of negotiation.

“...Fine.” She pulled him towards the couch, practically stomping. It was adorable, really, even if rather dramatic. Oh well, he would never turn down a deal in his favor when it came to his mate.

~~~~~Caleb~~~~~

It wasn't that often the hunter had enough time off to visit Caleb in Skyhaven, even less often for a full week. So they tried to make their limited time count, working out with each other, being dragged along to every possible place Caleb thought was worthy of showing off, and proper meal times with Caleb's cooking. It was rare that Caleb wasn't already up, and planning by the time she awoke. Determined to jam-pack as much fun together in his schedule possible. By some miracle today however, The Hunter managed to wake up before him.

Normally Caleb cooked, nearly insisting upon keeping her out of the kitchen. But, today was special. She had to make this rare occasion of being up first count. It wasn't like she couldn't cook at all, he just prefered to do it. Today she'd prove her cooking skills, and maybe he'd stop teasing her over it. Sliding on an apron of Caleb's shs started running along his kitchen. Setting to work making congee and pancakes. The time was so limited before Caleb woke up, so she had no choice but to hurry.

“Pipsqueak?” Of course just thinking of him made him appear, half awake, deep voiced- and completely out of nowhere. The hunter jumped and whipped around to face him.

It wasn't long till the scent of burning fabric reached both their noses, forcing the apron to be stripped off, burning from quick touch against the hot stove. Working together the small fire was stomped out before it got worse. Hearts raced as they stared down at the smoldering pile of fabric. Finally they both looked up, eyes meeting each other, guilt met with fear. A silent war breaking out for who'd break the tension first.

“Im sorry I-” The Hunter won out nervously.

“I haven't seen you fail like that in ages.” Caleb settled on a joke as his brain finally caught up to his eyes and he realized she was okay, that the danger had passed.

“I was trying to be nice,” Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared up at Caleb, gaining some of her confidence back with Caleb's nonchalant stance.

“Come on Pipsqueak, you know I spoil you when you visit. ‘Prevents things like this.” Really he just liked spoiling her, listening to her protests that it was too much; but smiling and loving it anyway.

“I said I was sorry.” Her cheeks puffed out with frustration before she sighed, “I really didn't mean to.”

“It's an apron, don't stress about it, you'll get more wrinkles.” He said with a ruffle of her hair, tension easing out of his body with each minute of normalcy between them. “Let's just finish cooking before the rest of it burns.” Things were safe and she was there in his safe embrace, everything else could be settled by him.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

BLOSSOM & BLOOM (1/12).

PAIRING — steve rogers x florist f!reader

CONTENTS — fake dating; fluff; mild angst; mild language; some spoilers for thor: love and thunder??; tw: mentions of minor character death and funerals; non-linear storytelling; and a friendly reminder that this story is not at all canon compliant.

CHAPTER SUMMARY — On the anniversary of the day you met, bonds of friendship are strengthened in the fires of romantic adversity.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k

NOTES — i honestly wasn’t gonna post this yet, but i feel like it’s been so long since i posted the masterlist and i was also stressing over how many rewrites this chapter has undergone. so, i’m posting to prevent myself from overthinking this any further. i hope you enjoy; it’s also better if you don’t look up the redacted flower meanings bc i will reveal them later <3

✩ series masterlist ✩ library blog

[1/12] The Proposal: ↳ an Avengers Tower gathering.

BLOSSOM & BLOOM, Rooftop Greenhouse E 40th St / Lexington Ave, NY — present day

Everything feels like a hollow version of itself tonight. 

No matter what kind of day you’d been having, the greenhouse is where you go to unwind, to lift your spirits. The flowers around you seem to droop, however, mirroring your mood as you push around a half-melted pint of Ben & Jerry’s in its carton. 

Strawberry cheesecake, non-dairy—because if your dumb, lactose intolerant ass is going to finish the entire thing anyway, you’d rather not add gastrointestinal distress to your growing list of problems. 

You sit among the lush greenery, the stars blinking lazily at you in the inky black sky beyond the glass walls of your personal conservatory, but you pay little attention. 

Notifications ping your phone, lying face down on a workbench that’s littered with incomplete bouquets and a few other lone blossoms. You don’t bother flipping it over, don’t have the courage to check whether it’s from one of them. 

Instead, every so often you put down the ice cream to pick up some stray lily or solitary rose, trying to bundle them together into something presentable. Nothing turns out the way you want, and so you ultimately give up. 

You try to summon the enthusiasm, grasping the handles of your gardening shears and moving the delicate, fern-like foliage of a nearby aquilegia plant out of the way so you can snip off the finished flowers. 

It does little to cheer you up this time, the spent blossoms falling onto the table, all shrivelled up like your heart. 

“So stupid,” you whisper, not really sure whether you mean yourself or someone else. In reality though, you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. 

The abandoned flowers sit accusingly before you, and you know you should care more. About the plants, the shop, the emails containing special orders for all sort of special occasions—all the things that used to bring you joy, enough that you made it your life’s work. 

But you’ve spent your entire life trying to make everybody else happy, surely you were allowed to take just a few hours in the night for yourself? 

Violet is at your parents’ house in Chelsea, your shop is closed for the day, and there are no more personal events in your calendar to worry about. You might not get a chance like this again. 

So, you stare up into the sky and try not to think about all the reasons why the things you used to love are making you miserable now. Maybe they remind you that caring hurts, and lord knows you’ve had enough of that to last a while. 

Still, your heart rewinds, showing you memories of all those staged dates. With hindsight, it was such a terrible idea, because you already loved him then. 

But at the time? It was so tempting, so deliciously sweet, because you already loved him then. 

You let yourself remember that very first night, sitting next to him on a bar stool in the party room at the Avengers Tower. You turned in the seat just enough so that your knees were knocking against his, bodies angled towards each other. 

Even now, you can’t get it out of your head. The way he smiled, contagious. The way his eyes crinkled so warmly at the corners, devastating. 

Your own laughter felt real and genuine in a way you hadn’t done in the longest time, and looking back, maybe that was the point when you stopped being able to tell where the pretending ended and the truth began. 

Your time together began to blend. Holding hands because someone from the team might be watching, and then not letting go because—well, you couldn't speak for him, but you didn’t want to. 

Murmured sweet nothings exaggerated for an audience of spies and superheroes turned into long, serious talks about nothing… and then about everything. 

What seemed so straightforward at first became a maze of feelings you thought you’d been prepared to navigate, but your traitorous heart constantly turned corners you weren’t expecting. 

You think of how you’ve actually fallen asleep playing his voice in your head, replaying moments that should have felt hollow and empty—but because he was the one with you, they didn’t. 

And then it all came crashing down. You had known it would, quite spectacularly in fact, but you didn’t think it would happen like this. 

You’d stood among the pews next to him in that church, watching as friends and loved ones paid their respects to the late Jane Foster, wondering what kind of fraud you were. 

“I’m grateful you’re here, my friends,” Thor had given you a small smile, his eyes shining with sadness, your throat threatening to close up when his large hand landed heavy and warm on your shoulder, “I cannot tell you what it means.” 

You remember Wanda, her expression a portrait of loss and sorrow even as Vision stood so close, their shoulders bumped. You knew who she was thinking about, a brother lost in battle. She’d confided in you about Pietro before, especially after you shared that you’d lost a brother of your own. 

Tony shushed a fussy newborn Morgan, rocking her in his arms as Pepper rummaged through her purse for a packet of tissues, her eyes red and her nose running. He then handed you the tiny little bundle of joy, the baby nestling comfortably in the crook of your elbow, as Tony turned to help his wife. 

Bruce was in the front row next to Thor when he returned from greeting guests, shoulders hunched and his hands clasped together in his lap like he didn’t know what to do or say. Bruce was a quiet man, but every now and then he reached out to pat his friend on the back, as though he remembered a conversation he had with you about showing affection if he couldn’t speak it. 

Natasha and Yelena reached for each other, their hands coming together in the row in front of you. The sisters leaned against one another, their eyes downcast as Dr. Foster’s casket was covered in white flowers and carried out of the church. As they turned to watch the procession, their eyes met yours and they smiled. They reached for you with their free hands, and you met them halfway, your fingers trembling. 

And the reality of the charade began to sink in. 

You’d forgotten what it was like, having friends. Good ones. After your brother and sister-in-law passed, devastating your family and fracturing it seemingly beyond repair, your priorities shifted dramatically. 

The shop used to be number one, and then your pitiful personal life. But now you’ve adopted your brother’s orphaned child, who needs you more than ever, even if parenthood was never a choice you would’ve made before everything changed. 

As a result, your social life (and your love life, for that matter) fell to the wayside. Your parents, although you knew they meant well, kept insisting that you couldn’t do this alone. 

Maybe it would be better if your niece went to live with them instead, they’d suggested. Or at least, it would assuage their fears if you’d just settled down with someone. 

You acknowledged that being a single parent would be hard, but there must have been a reason your brother, with whom you weren’t particularly close, decided to leave Violet in your care. Your mom and dad weren’t necessarily bad parents, but they weren’t always the most nurturing or supportive. 

Did you want that for Violet? After all, your parents didn’t seem to understand that what you needed wasn’t a spouse or unsolicited opinions about what you could or couldn’t do. 

What you need is for them to see your grief, to acknowledge that you are trying, and to tell you that is enough. 

And the Avengers, who started out as Steve’s friends, had eventually become yours too. When did it become so easy to visit the Tower for a chat with any one of them, so reassuring to see all those familiar faces at whatever event Steve led you into, and so instinctual to pick up the phone at any given time when you were bored and needed someone to talk to? 

Unlike your family, they never judged—well, maybe a tiny bit—but they nevertheless welcomed you into their little group like you were always a part of them. Never mind that there was nothing particularly super about you, a civilian who just so happened to cross paths with them years ago. 

All you did was grow flowers, but somehow they made it feel like you might as well be sprouting magic from your fingertips. 

The initial lie began so innocently, but it threatens to choke you now. The more you got to know them, the more they accepted you, the more your discomfort grew. 

You were being surrounded by sincerity, and it only served to make your own deception seem more glaring and cruel by the minute. 

And so you ran. 

Steve had reached for you, because of course he would. You remember the tug of his hand when you tried to pull away, the warmth of his grasp not matching the cold truth you were always too afraid to face: the two of you were never really together, no matter how real it might have felt. 

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the replay of events but the images persist. That final day, him watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read as you retreated. 

“I don’t know how to be what you need anymore,” you’d said, holding back tears because you had no right to cry. You were the one bailing on him, after all. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Was that anger you saw in his face? No, not anger. Hurt? Disappointment? You wish you knew. You wish you could have stayed. 

Will you ever see him again? 

You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly and trying to squeeze out the doubt that’s settled there like an unwelcome guest. You did the right thing, you tell yourself, even if it doesn’t feel like it—even if it feels like it might shred your heart to pieces. 

Even so, your fingers itch to send him a message. Just one. Something to make sure he’s okay… or maybe you just want to make sure you haven’t been erased—some assurance that, even though the relationship wasn’t real, not all of it was a total sham. 

Eventually, it gets so late that even inside the greenhouse gets a little chilly. You have to get up early to pick up Violet from your parents’ house in Chelsea, and then prepare yourself for the inevitable verbal smack-down waiting for you there when they realize you and Steve have “broken up”. 

With a sigh, you gather the now empty ice cream carton, along with the trimmings and loose petals you picked off the flower stems earlier. You begin heading down the six flights of stairs, past your second floor apartment, and back into the shop to throw away the trash. 

Blossom & Bloom is dark and still, the sign of the door flipped over to announce that you’re closed, but a flash of movement outside catches your attention. You freeze, watching as a tall shadow drifts across the front window, checking the time to see it’s well past midnight. Who on earth would come by now? 

The shadow crosses again, deliberate, not the random movement of a passerby. Your stomach flips as the motion sensor lights above the door flick on, revealing a familiar silhouette framed by the light of a nearby street lamp. 

It can’t be him, standing there looking like he’s just stepped off a vintage war poster. It’s too soon. And it’s also too late.  

Nonetheless, you’re propelled towards the door by a mixture of fear and longing. He raises a hand as if to knock, only stopping when he sees you through the glass. Slowly, you unlock and open the door. 

“It’s late,” you murmur, even though those are a far cry from the words you’ve longed to tell him. Still, you keep your tone firm and even, as if you weren’t just drowning your sorrows in the most cliched way possible. 

You hide partially behind the door, as though it might protect you from… you don’t know what. Steve would never do anything to hurt you, not knowingly anyway. 

And you’re not his “girlfriend” anymore—you never were, you correct mentally—so then why is he looking at you like that? 

“You’ve been trying to tell me something,” Steve says, sounding slightly out of breath. He doesn't seem angry, hurt, or disappointed at all. In fact, he looks almost… happy. 

Your face heats as you turn away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re lying,” he breathes, like he’s still catching his breath, sounding suspiciously like he ran all the way here from the Tower. “Your heart rate just sped up.” 

“What?” You whirl around with wide eyes, incredulous. “Well, stop listening!” 

“No,” he grins, cheeky, as though the last two weeks of silence haven’t happened. Like you didn’t run out of Dr. Foster’s funeral and left him high and dry, no doubt fumbling for explanations to his very confused team. 

You look straight up into his eyes, searching for signs that this might be an illusion, a delusion, but all you can see is true blue. 

It’s such a rarity in your world, the one of flowers, but even though you know this well, you find yourself searching for signs of it ever since you met him. Signs of Steve—reassuring, steadfast, and more beautiful than anything that’s ever bloomed between these walls. 

More than the tiny, almost microscopic petals of the brunnera plants that blossom just after winter’s final frost. More than the dreamy delphinium spires that sway in the humid breeze at the height of summer. More than the lobelia hummingbird havens that grow in full splendour during the spring and fall. 

Those cerulean orbs soften the longer you hesitate. Despite how you’d left things, Steve smiles so kindly, so gently, it makes you ache. 

Hope. Sweet, treacherous hope swells in your chest, because he takes another step forward. He gathers your hands in his, impossibly slow, characteristically tender, and closes the gap just enough to press his forehead to yours. 

You swallow a gasp and close your eyes, afraid he’ll see right through you, that he might find the love you’ve been too scared to speak but have been written all over your face all this time. 

“I… I can’t…” 

And because it’s Steve, he makes it all better with just a few choice words: “What if I promise to say it back?” 

Your eyes snap open, and that little seedling—the one that had been planted between you the day you met all those years ago, the one that had been biding its time, just waiting for the perfect conditions before it could sprout—suddenly chooses that moment to spring out of the earth and bloom in full colour. 

Steve seems to sense the change. He takes a breath. 

And you, a leap of faith. 

❀ Aquilegia┆columbine┆lion’s herb SYMBOLIZES: courage.

THE AVENGERS TOWER, Party Hall 200 Park Ave, NY — May 4, 20XX 

Steve normally looked forward to a quiet night in with the team. 

It was nice just being with friends, the responsibilities of his shield forgotten upstairs in his room, and to put down the weight of the world that rested on his shoulders—albeit temporarily. 

Lately, however, he’d been going around with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He paused before turning corners now, carefully poking his head out first to check if the coast was clear, avoiding the members of his team like they were the plague. 

Because Romanoff seemed to have a never ending list of people she thought he should ask out on a date, Tony would not stop mentioning some former client from his time at Stark Industries, and Sam kept going on about a girl from the VA who’d be “perfect” for him. 

And unfortunately, Steve seemed to be running out of excuses now that the ones he’s already given them—he isn’t ready; Avenging is a full-time job; or, honestly, dating is just the last thing on his mind right now—didn’t seem to be good enough anymore. 

If their Captain wouldn’t go out and get a damn life, then they’d get one for him. 

Steve took a deep, stabilizing breath before stepping into the party hall, dreading all the dodging he was going to have to do tonight. If only they’d focus that energy into keeping the Tower neat and organized, he’d have a much easier time. 

Well, at least the place looked nice. 

Because Tony never missed an opportunity to throw a party (and spend some hard earned dough), the Tower was decorated to the nines. There was a champagne tower in the corner, a full spread of hors d’oeuvres laid out on tables lined with cloths that probably cost more than the average rent, and the floors were so shiny Steve could see his own reflection in the tiles. 

The opulence of the room made it hard to believe that just a handful of years ago, Loki and his alien army had nearly destroyed the city. There were no signs of that destruction now, even though at the time the damage had seemed so insurmountable. 

Blossom & Bloom, the flower shop just a few blocks away, was looking brand new as well. The cartoonish Steve-shaped holes in the wall and broken glass window have long since been repaired and perfectly replaced—once again courtesy of Tony’s more than sizeable bank account. 

It just goes to show how far one can go, and how quickly, with the right amount of green. And he was not talking about the Hulk. 

Although, maybe the Hulk too. Tony has definitely threatened to release the big guy if contractors didn’t cooperate. 

Speaking of the flower shop, Steve sighed with relief when he saw you by the refreshment table. He bypassed the team, giving them a casual wave as he approached your side, the only person in the room who wouldn’t give him a hard time for being, as Sam liked to put it, “single as fuck”. 

“Jesus,” he breathed when he was finally in the safe zone, “did Tony leave any flowers for the rest of New York?” 

“I think he plans to buy them all eventually,” you laughed, piling food high onto your plate, while Steve nodded at the abundant bouquets scattered around the room. “Though, I’m definitely not going to complain about the business.” 

“Sorry, that’s not what I mean. They’re nice,” Steve said, leaning over to admire the brilliant red-orange blossoms that bleed into a bright yellow at their centres. They smelled faintly of liquorice, perfectly arranged among clusters of glossy green leaves. “What are they?” 

“Rosa foetida,” you pronounced in Latin with a flourish of your hand, the fork you were holding almost stabbing him in the eye. God, you are such a nerd, and yet Steve couldn’t help but smile. “The Austrian copper rose. Aren’t they stunning?” 

Steve didn’t say anything back though, just plucked a mini quiche off your plate and shoved it nervously into his mouth. You looked up when you got silence in return, rolling your eyes when you saw him engaged in a staring contest, the usual battle of wits, with Natasha and Sam. 

Poor guy. Didn’t he know he didn’t stand a chance?

“Still avoiding the others, then?” You asked, and he muttered something unintelligible with his mouth full. “You know, the solution is very simple, Rogers.” 

“An’ wha’s that?” Steve mumbled, somehow managing not to spray you with crumbs in the process. 

“Get yourself a girlfriend,” you said matter-of-factly, and you heard him scoff. “Sorry, or a boyfriend. I don’t actually know what you’re into.” 

“Like it’s that simple,” he said after he swallowed. 

”Okay, first, I want it noted for the record that you didn’t deny the boyfriend thing,” you grinned triumphantly and he rolled his eyes, signalling for the bartender and quietly ordering a glass of whiskey for himself and a Diet Coke for you. 

The life he leads isn’t an easy one, even before he spent the better part of a century frozen at the bottom of the ocean—before the war, even. 

A frail, sickly boy spending most of his nights in bed, battling scarlet fever or painful stomach ulcers, didn’t exactly scream relationship material. People rarely even looked at him back then, and when they did, it was almost always platonic… or simply because they wanted to impress his best friend. 

And then seventy years later, a hyper focused super soldier with little else on his mind but the next mission, the next global threat, or the next existential crisis that would always take precedence over date night or meeting the parents, didn’t sound much better either. 

“And second, when you look like that,” you gestured to his entire body with a pair of mini tongs, smirking when Steve averted his eyes shyly, his cheeks reddening, “it kind of is that simple.” 

Fine, he will admit it, the effects of the serum certainly got him noticed. As inexperienced as he was, Steve wasn’t completely oblivious. He had no problem turning heads now, you’re right, and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t enjoy some of the attention. 

Still, anyone of substance, any person he could ever see himself really falling for, would want more than he would ever dare to offer. 

“And you’re sweet or whatever, I guess that’s always a bonus,” you added teasingly before taking a big gulp of your soda. “Anyone with half a brain would jump at the chance to date you, so what’s the problem?” 

The problem is, he can’t promise he won’t ever need to leave at the drop of a hat. He can’t even promise that he’ll always have the chance to call or get in touch first, or that he would come back from every single mission safe and sound. 

“Just doesn’t seem fair, is all,” Steve shrugged after explaining, “especially not to someone I’m supposed to care about.” 

“Wow,” you smiled at him and Steve bristled. Not because he was uncomfortable, per se, but because there was something different about that smile in particular. 

Every now and then, you got this strange look on your face, something unfathomable and unreadable, missing all the usual playfulness and slight sarcasm. The most preposterous idea popped into his head sometimes, that maybe you only ever wore that look around him. 

But just as quickly as it happened, the moment was over and you reverted back to your usual self, “you are such a sap. It’s adorable.” 

“Shut up,” Steve rolled his eyes again, knowing how much you enjoy poking fun, so he didn’t take the comment personally. “So, how’d it go with your parents?” 

“Ugh,” you winced, the memory evidently not so pleasant, “don’t remind me.” 

“They’re still giving you a hard time, huh?” Steve asked as the both of you headed over to the bar to sit, you awkwardly balancing your mountain of food as you went. 

“Evidently, Violet needs a father,” you scoffed, changing your voice to mimic who he assumed was your mother. You shook your head before speaking normally again, “never mind how often I try to remind them she already has one.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve frowned, his fingers toying with the rim of his glass. You didn’t talk about your late brother very often and he didn’t ask, knowing it was a bit of a sore subject. By now, he’d heard more than a handful of times that your parents kept insisting you find someone to settle down with, even though you’d made it perfectly clear that it wasn’t a priority. 

“It’s whatever,” you shrugged, casually dismissing the matter with a wave of your hand. Steve could tell that wasn’t the case, judging from the way you heaved the biggest sigh, your food untouched for now, “it’s fine.” 

“I think you’re doing great,” Steve said, and he wasn’t just saying it. Not everyone was capable of stepping up the way you did, adopting your orphaned niece and deciding to raise her on your own. “Violet’s a good kid, and she’s lucky to have you.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, your annoyance melting away to be replaced with a small, affectionate smile, “I’m the lucky one, though.” 

“How come you didn’t just bring her along?” Steve asked, already missing ten-year-old Violet’s youthful enthusiasm and charm, even if she did occasionally make him feel like a recently-excavated dinosaur. 

“It’s apparently uncool to be hanging out with her aunt now,” you joked, although he could see the slight twinge of angst in your eyes, “besides, she lost all interest in attending when I told her Thor wouldn’t be here.” 

“Hurtful,” he joked, pretending to sulk into his glass. You patted his shoulder in a placating gesture, and when he looked up he saw the rest of the Avengers huddled together. He was sure they’re scheming right now, coming up with all sorts of ways to get him out of the Tower and lure him into an unsuspecting date.

He didn’t know why it came to him right then, but the idea hit him like a freight train. The rational part of his brain told him to shut the hell up, because it was a terrible idea and you’d probably smack him for even suggesting it.

The other side, the seldom seen irrational Steve—although, was it particularly rational to lie his way into the army, take an experimental super serum, punch his way through WWII, and then crash land a plane into the Arctic?— was blurting it before he could stop himself.

Because if his friends were going to scheme anyway, why not play at their game and scheme right back? 

“You could do it,” he said. “Be my girlfriend.” 

Your fork paused in mid-air above your plate, and you looked at him like he’d just sprouted a second head.

“Not like that,” he rushed to explain. Your features twisted into one of mock offence, and he quickly backpedaled, “No, that’s not what I mean—listen, you’re great, I just—hear me out, okay?”

All he needed was a date to a handful of special occasions dotting his calendar over the next few months, just long enough to convince his well-intentioned but annoying as hell friends that he was, in fact, doing just fine in the dating department. 

And it somewhat made sense! Because you and him have been friends for ages now—how many years has it been?—and Steve wouldn’t decide to date just anybody at this point. He did spend a lot of time at your shop, with Violet, and it wasn’t strange for any one of them to see you around the Tower making a delivery or stopping by for a visit. 

When the time came, the two of you would “break up” amicably and go back to being just friends—no harm, no foul. He would feign just enough disappointment that the team would be too sympathetic, too sorry to see you go, that they would hopefully stop pestering him about his love life for the foreseeable future. 

If nothing else, it would buy him at least a few months of peace, and god knows he could use some of that.

“What do you think?” Steve asked, hopeful. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, looking even more puzzled. 

“I think you’ve gone crazy, Steven,” you muttered, while he tutted and batted your hand away, “did you get hit in the head on your last mission?” 

“Think about it, it’s a win-win for both of us,” and even though you were still a bit hesitant, Steve could see the wheels starting to spin in your head. “You help me get these jackasses off my back—” 

“Steve—” you admonished. 

“—and I’ll help you ward off your parents for a little bit,” he continued, undeterred. And the plus side? Steve did genuinely enjoy your company, even if you could be such a smartass sometimes.

He recalled the day you met, during the Battle of New York, and maybe it wasn’t exactly one for the storybooks, but the both of you had come such a long way since then. 

Most importantly, you deserved better than having to rush into a relationship with some random guy you’d meet on a dating app—which was the direction you were headed if your parents had anything to say about it.

And because you were friends now, and because Steve knew you were much sweeter and more agreeable when you weren’t faced with the mortal peril of an alien invasion, your shoulders were already slumping in resignation. You wouldn’t turn him away in his hour of need, he knew, not when he’s come to you so many times to vent about his nosy teammates. 

“Just for a few months?” You asked slowly, already starting to come around, just as tempted by the idea of silence. And your parents wouldn’t have anything to complain about if you’re dating Captain America.

Well, maybe his dangerous job, but you take some, you lose some.  

“That’s it,” he promised. 

“And we don’t involve Violet in this,” you pointed a finger at him and he was already nodding. Lying to his friends was one thing, but lying to your niece was a whole other. He wouldn’t ever ask that of you anyway. “As far as she’ll ever know, we’re just friends.” 

“Of course, we’ll come up with something,” he readily agreed, because of all people, his team knew how complicated the superhero dating life could be, even without kids involved.

Steve prepared to shake your hand to seal the deal, but stopped short just in case anyone was watching.

“Might as well start selling it, Cap,” you said with a sigh, grabbing his hand anyway and lacing your fingers between his, much more intimately than he’d intended. You lifted your fork with your other hand, feeding him a bite from your plate. 

Steve had no choice but to open his mouth and accept the stuffed mushroom, feeling warm all of a sudden even though he was not wearing a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. It was made worse when he heard the surprised squawks of his friends from across the room. 

“Hang on a minute.” Surprisingly, Bruce was the one who started.

“Hey, what the hell?” Tony muttered, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. 

“When did that happen?” Sam demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh my god, is that why he’s always at the flower shop?” Pepper watched with wide eyes, lowering her champagne flute with interest. 

“So, he was working up the guts to ask her out this entire time?” Clint snickered, and even though it wasn’t true, Steve blushed like it ws. 

The only one who remained silent was Natasha, her eyes seeming to glow despite the dim lighting. Steve was determined not to look at her, lest he gave himself away. He kept his eyes squarely on you, trying to stay centred.

“My god, we really need to work on your poker face,” you told him, throwing your head back and laughing at the sight of his pink cheeks. “Is this how you always react to holding hands?”

“Shut up,” he managed between a tightly clenched jaw, his blood rushing all the way up to the tips of his ears. You continued giggling into your plate of food before Steve finally gave in to your infectious laughter, a small smile tugging at his own lips.

It will be fine, he told himself. This was you, after all, his best and only friend outside the Avengers; your friendship was strong enough to survive whatever came at you. Besides, he was going to do his absolute damnedest to make sure you, and Violet for that matter, emerged from this unscathed.

That’s right, he repeated as he silently promised to protect you, whether it was from aliens, his friends, or even himself.

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

❀ Rosa foetida┆Austrian copper rose SYMBOLIZES: friendship; █████████.

to be continued.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. followers with zero engagement, serial likers, and blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[ll7esxs]

✦ 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: They rejected you because they are not into you. ✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Elias walker, Keegan russ, Thomas merrick, Kick. ✦ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: X G!N! Reader. ✦ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Headcanons. ✦ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 / 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐞: Angst ✦ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Unrequited love, emotional rejection, hurt feelings ✦ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𖦹 ⟡ summary: You were teammates—side by side through fire and fury—and somewhere between the chaos, you found yourself drawn to them. It was easy to admire them… too easy to adore. So you gathered the courage, heart pounding louder than gunfire, and confessed. A moment suspended in hope. But their answer came swift, clean, and final: "No." And somehow, that hurt more than the bullets ever did.

Logan Walker

He doesn’t enter relationships lightly — if he’s not all in, he won’t pretend.

His mind is always split between the job and survival. He doesn’t allow himself distractions.

There might even be some guilt there — like you deserve more than what he could give.

He respects you—hell, he really does—but no way is he ready to just spill everything or break it all open right now.

So he goes quiet. Not because he’s awkward or caught off guard, but because he respects you too much to rush or blurt something out he can’t take back.

No fidgeting. No stammering. Just stillness.

He takes a breath, thinking through what to say, weighing every word.

And you? You catch that look—the rare, unreadable pause—and can’t help but say with a knowing smile feeling your heart punded you know the answer, “Oh... Logan...”

He exhales softly, finally breaking the silence with a low, honest tone: “I didn’t expect that.”

Another pause hangs between you—heavy, deliberate. Not because he’s unsure, but because every word matters.

His eyes lock with yours, steady and unflinching.

“I respect you. A lot. You’re good—good to work with, good to be around. But I don’t think I’m…I'm in the right place to give you anything back.”

The words hit bluntly, but there’s no cruelty behind them. No dodging. Just raw honesty.

His shoulders tense, not from indifference, but because he cares—and it hurts him to cause that pain.

Even now, after breaking your heart, he won’t let you walk away shattered.

Before you turn, he adds quietly: “You’re stronger than most people I know. Don’t let this change how you see yourself.”

You shrug, trying to mask it with a casual “I’m fine!”

And then, he lets the silence fall—no chasing, no empty promises. That’s just not who he is.

But he makes damn sure you leave knowing this isn’t about you being not enough. It’s about him—not ready, not able, not whole enough to give you what you deserve.

Hesh Walker

Hesh is a man of duty and responsibility, often putting the mission and those depending on him first.

He knows relationships demand time and emotional investment, and he’s wary of letting someone in only to pull away.

He doesn’t want to lead you on or waste your time if he can’t fully commit.

Hesh pauses, his strong gaze locking with yours—eyes heavy with a mix of shock and regret.

He broke the tension with "Jesus christ" A breathing laugh.

Calm and deliberate, he speaks “Look, I’m damn honored you feel that way. Seriously. But I’ve got a lot going on that keeps me tied up—more than most people know.”

He steps a little closer, his voice lowering but steady, unwavering.

“I can’t promise you what you’re asking for, when it comes to this... I gotta be real. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

Then, in a rare moment of warmth—no pity—he places a strong hand on your shoulder, grounding the silence between you.

“You’re solid. Don’t settle for less than what you’re worth. And you damn sure don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes never leave yours — making sure you understand this isn’t about you, not a rejection of who you are.

Hesh wants to keep things clean: professional, respectful — no awkwardness, no bitterness trailing behind.

A small, half-smile quirks at the corner of his mouth — serious, but soft enough to ease the tension, that trademark Hesh way.

His rejection is honest and firm, never cruel or dismissive. Respect matters more to him than romance or fleeting chances.

Elias Walker

Elias prioritizes duty above all else, sometimes to a fault.

He’s well aware of the sacrifices and hardships that come with a life in service — and he doesn’t want to drag someone else into that.

His sense of tradition and responsibility makes him cautious about starting something he can’t fully commit to.

He’s likely to worry about the consequences more than the feelings at the moment.

He stiffens, jaw tightening slightly, eyes narrowing not with anger but with weighty consideration.

“I appreciate your honesty. That takes guts. But I’m a man with responsibilities that don’t leave much room for anything else.”

He steps back, keeping his distance but with no malice.

“I’ve spent my life making sacrifices for the mission and my family. This... this isn’t something I can take lightly or act on.”

Elias’s tone softens just a fraction, showing a flicker of genuine care beneath his stern exterior.

“You deserve someone who can give you their all. I’m not that man right now.”

He looks at you, not to dismiss but to convey respect.

He hope you do not mistake him for underestimating you and that he is just find no place with you to act on these feelings.

He nods once, signaling the end of the conversation.

He walks away with purpose, leaving you with that weighty respect and an unspoken hope that you’ll find someone better suited.

He hopes nothing to you, but to focus on your missions on your surviving.

Keegan P. Russ

This is keegan.

He keeps emotional intimacy extremely guarded.

He views relationships — especially in high-stakes environments — as distractions or vulnerabilities.

Keegan values honesty and clarity, even if the truth stings.

He doesn't believe he can meet expectations emotionally, so he cuts it off before it can start.

Keegan doesn’t flinch from the moment — he never does. But something in his eyes tightens, just barely, like a muscle pulled too long.

“You really picked the worst timing for that, y’know.”

His voice stays low, measured — not because he doesn’t care, but because it’s the only way he can care without breaking his own edges.

Well shit...He did not see that coming.

“I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

His tone is direct, honest. Not cruel — just disconnected from emotion, like he's offering facts in a debrief.

"if you’re looking for something more than what this is… I’m not wired for it."

Despite the bluntness, Keegan makes sure you don’t feel small.

He will just go with a simple thing "It is not about you" when you try to leave.

He nods once then turning around to leave, without any other glance.

Thomas merrick

Erm actually that is not hard for him lol.

There’s no shock in Merrick’s face. He listens the way he always does — completely, without interrupting.

He takes a breath, long and steady. His posture straightens, even more than usual — the kind of stillness that only comes from someone used to delivering hard truths with care.

"You’re brave for sayin’ that."

His voice doesn’t waver — not cold, but controlled. Like every word has weight.

"But that path... it ain’t mine. Not with you."

He’s not someone who beats around the bush — but he never belittles feelings.

"I’m a man that carries too much, and I know what happens when people like me try to make room for more."

"You deserve better than someone who’s only halfway here."

He doesn’t leave it cold — His gaze stays on yours, solid and unwavering. He doesn’t retreat or deflect — he just stands there, willing to let you see him as he is.

"You’re good. And you’ll find someone who sees that and gives you what you deserve. That just... ain’t me."

He gives a nod of finality—subtle but resolute—and leaves you space to step back with dignity.

Merrick treats you no differently afterward. There’s no awkwardness, no condescension. He’s a man of structure and respect.

Your courage didn’t go unnoticed—he holds that in regard. But he keeps a line drawn, and he never lets it blur.

Kick

Kick is painfully aware of how chaotic, dangerous, and unstable their lives are — especially his.

He might not trust himself with something real, especially if he genuinely good with you.

He may flirts by nature, but serious emotional commitment scares him, more than he'd admit.

Damn. You’re really brave, y’know that?

That is what he thought to himself.

Kick will try to talk it out by complimenting you, and he is not lying with every word in his feeling.

“You’re smart. Got your head on straight. Too good for me, honestly.”

There’s no joking here now — he drops the sarcasm when it counts.

He shifts his tone to something softer — not pitying, not dramatic, but real.

Oh yeah he thinks you are good but not for him, and his mind never got the idea of you both pairing.

So he would tell you by how busy he is.

“I’d just mess it up. Or disappear on you halfway through something good. That’s not fair to you.”

Then he chuckles lightly, almost a sad sound.

“I’d rather keep you around than ruin something real by pretending I’ve got my shit together.”

If you press for more or just want to know why, he doesn’t shut down — he’s honest.

“I care. That’s the problem. I care too damn much, and that gets dangerous real fast around people like us...think about it y/n”

He won’t let this ruin what you have, but he won’t pretend it didn’t happen either. That’s his quiet way of saying he respects you too much to string you along.

[seireiteifics]

(NOT SO) ACCIDENTAL KISS

In a moment of clouded judgement, Y/N kisses her captain for the first and only time... possibly... maybe... not really.

⋆ Shunsui Kyoraku x Female!Reader. 1,113 words. One-Shot. Canon Universe. 3rd Seat!Reader, Accidental Kiss, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Not Proof Read, Squad 8!Reader. AO3. Masterlist.

⋆ A/N: Was this fic planned? No. Is this a result of me being sleep deprived and trying feel even a bit alive by writing something self indulgent? Maybe... This set of pixels is comforting. Leave me be. 🤣

"L/N—"

"I-I'm sorry, C-Captain!" Y/N managed out, quickly bowing her head.

Her strands of hair fell across her shoulders and down into her face, hiding the heat pooling at the apples of her cheeks. Her shoulders practically sat against her neck, scrunched inward toward her body as she subconsciously tried to make herself smaller.

Out of all the Captains, she had to go kiss him? The one that showed her nothing but kindness? The one that she felt she could be at ease around? Sure there was Captain Ukitake, who is stern when it came to work but overall kind and gentle. But Captain Kyoraku was different. At least to her. Maybe it was the butterflies that filled her stomach when he entered the room, the way her heart fluttered when he would laugh at her stupid jokes during their occasional lunches together, or maybe even the way his eyes would be softer on the nights it was just them working late. Whatever the reason may be, he was different.

Yet she got careless and screwed it all up.

All because she got caught up in the moment, being it was late into the evening now, and he was right there. His downward turned eyes gazing gently at her, their bodies a few inches apart with only the stack of papers she had brought for him to review between them, his head ducked down slightly for ease of reading only further closing the distance between them. The faint glow of the candles lit around the barrack softly lit up half of his face, its warm blaze further softening the Captain's features. The scent of sandalwood, sake, and something uniquely Shunsui drew her in further. Since her joining his squad all those years ago, that scent had become her favorite, a scent that truly intoxicated her, luring her like a fish with bait.

The warmth of his expression, his scent, his close proximity, his kindness, the late night, it all together mixed in her head. A single lingering glance after a soft smile was all it took for her years of reservation to crumble.

She stretched upward and delicately pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was short. It easily could've been missed by others —if there were anyone around— with how quickly she pulled away after briefly meeting Shunsui's gaze whilst her lips connected with his.

"I-I don't know w-w-what I was t-thinking!" She continued, the words spilling from her lips panicked. "That was highly inappropriate and—"

The word vomit seemed to halt as his deep, warm laughter filled the room.

For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look. The nervous, bubbling pit in her stomach threatening to explode, spilling out her inside. However, after gathering what little courage she had, she hesitantly gazed up, her brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Lo and behold, the noise that reached her ears were not a deception. No tricks of the eyes or ears. There her Captain stood, mid apology, laughing. At her.

"Inappropriate, eh?" He chuckled, the corners of his lips turned upward as he titled his wide rimmed hat downward, obscuring her vision of his face. "That's unfortunate."

Her brows furrowed further as she straightened back up.

"…Unfortunate, sir?"

Shunsui hummed. Leaning back onto the desk behind him, he released the brim of his hat, lightly pushing up on it to sit further back on his head. His eyes met hers, a mischievous glint flickering in his warm gray eyes.

"To be kissed by someone so sweet, so beautiful, even if only for a moment, to only have it deemed inappropriate. It's quite unfortunate, don't you think, L/N?"

"Uh?"

He sighed dramatically. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked away, a vaguely dreamy look painting his features that was soon followed by a small pout on his lips.

"Ahhh. A shame. The cute girl from my dreams pecked my lips and now—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Y/N interrupted, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot. "Cute girl from your dreams?!"

Shunsui hummed, not meeting her bewildered gaze.

"C-Captain?! Do you— are you saying…?!"

He forced the twitching of lips away, keeping his gaze focused in the distance, away from her figure. If he were a better man, he'd drop the teasing then and there, but her reactions? He liked watching the usually reserved and quiet shinigami squirm much more than he should admit. The flush of her cheeks? The uncharacteristic expressions? The stammering? It was addictive, seeing new sides to his little subordinate. Also a bit cathartic.

Being her Captain, Shunsui's hands were tied when it came to what he could initiate with her. Only she could start the motions of pursuing something beyond a captain and subordinate relationship with him. For years, he waited patiently, almost immediately noticing the different way she acted around him versus everyone else, even the other Captains. The 'secret' crush she harbored was not so secret.

He kept his lips sealed, being a good boy and letting her fumble her way into a situation like the one they were in now.

Toward girls, Shunsui was much kinder than he was to boys. However, that didn't stop the need to tease her, even in a situation like this one, where Y/N was looking up at him with that deer in a headlight stare. A little teasing never hurt anyone after all.

"Since it's inappropriate, I'll just have to be content with those sweet lips in my dreams. And try my best to remember how they taste…"

"W-What if y-you don't have to try hard to r-remember?" Y/N even surprised herself with the words spilling from her lips. They were clumsy and rushed, but she managed to speak clearly enough.

Shunsui's brow raised, his gaze flickering to met hers once more.

"Oh?"

Y/N's body moved with a mind of it's own. Stepping forward, her hands took hold of each side of his floral kimono, pulling him forward. A hand released the fabric to slip around and behind his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck as she shifted to her toes. Her lips once more connecting with his, lingering unlike before. The squad Captain hummed approvingly, his hands finding her hips, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

What would become of this little incident would need to be properly discussed. However, that was for a later time. The taste of her sweet chapstick on her soft lips was too intoxicating to deny. So his hands pulled her in closer, sliding to settle on her lower back, thoughts of the topic briefly discarded in exchange for her willing time.

[cherubtooth]

⋆˙⟡♡ cw! afab gn reader (no pronouns), oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, i just really wanted to write munch izuku hehe

izuku midoriya is so nervous the first time he gets you in his bedroom, he can’t get it up.

and it’s got nothing to do with the outfit you chose for your fifth date together. god, no. he could barely keep his hands to himself all night as you two split some onigiri in a small, lowkey restaurant. and it’s definitely got nothing to do with how you’ve made him laugh so hard he nearly choked on the rice. certainly nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been finding little ways to brush against him all night, little passes of your foot against his, hands brushing as you both reach for the same onigiri (he always relents), knuckles tapping as you walk to his apartment with his heart in his throat and butterflies swarming his stomach.

but it does have everything to do with the fact he’s spent the last six months fisting his cock to the thought of you underneath him, and now that you’re here, gazing up at him with dangerously hungry eyes, his mind is very, infuriatingly blank.

you look nothing short of absolutely delectable on his bed, lips swollen from his mouth working hot and heavy against them, pupils blown and leaving just a sliver of your iris, chest heaving with a thin layer of sweat already shining, hands playing with the ends of his hair as he tries his hardest to, well, get hard.

you smile up at him, and his ego fractures a little at the sympathy he can see in your lips. “izuku—”

“i swear it has nothing to do with you,” he scrambles to defend. “you’re absolutely gorgeous, and i really, really want to do this. i’m just—it’s—nervous—and—” oh god, he’s rambling now. after months of pining and sexual frustration and chickening out every time he thought he had gathered to courage to ask you out, you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist and looking up at him expectantly, and he can’t even get hard. this is almost as embarrassing as when he lost his virginity and came before he could bury himself to the hilt.

you’re just about ready to call it eyesa night. not because you’re angry or disappointed in any way (okay, maybe a little disappointed, but it’s not as though you’re going to shame him over something he can’t control), but rather to recuse your date from the obvious shame he’s currently drowning in. your voice is soft as you call out his name over his babbling, “izu—”

“wait,” he nearly cries out, the tips of his ears pink and his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

you smile sweetly and shake your head. “s’okay, izuku. i had a lot of fun either way!” you twist your body to begin reaching for the shirt you had discarded a bit ago before tumbling into his bed, but the feeling of his large hands on the backs of your thighs stops you, and the sight of his bright, eager green eyes makes your breath get caught in your throat.

“can i try something?”

and he looks so earnest with your legs wrapped around his naked waist, his fingers drumming against your thighs as he awaits your answer, tongue darting out to soothe the bite he’s left on his lip, so ready to spring into action the moment you give him the go-ahead.

you nod, and before you can say anything else, izuku has your knees touching your shoulders and your glistening cunt right under his mouth, hot breath fanning across your wetness and sending a shiver down your spine.

“let me know if it’s too much, okay?” he sounds far too sweet to have you folded in half the way he does, but there’s an undeniable hunger in his eyes that has you clenching down on nothing.

“m’kay.”

it’s as if he’s in a trance. he’s devouring you as soon as the word leaves your mouth, tongue dragging its way between your sticky folds before flattening against the pearl of your clit, strong hands pushing down on your hamstrings and holding you in place. a groan reverberates from in his scarred chest, and his grip on you tightens as he adjusts his posture so he can bury his face in you even more. gone is the sweet, somewhat timid UA teacher that frequented the restaurant you work at, and in his place is an animal dead-set on making you lose your mind on his tongue.

“izu—fuck!” stars are already dancing behind your eyelids, thighs twitching in sync with the movement of his mouth.

he hums against you, before sucking your clit into his mouth and causing your toes to curl. “hm?” he hums around you this time, and the vibration of it has your spine bowing up towards him. “feel good, baby?”

“god, yes! fuck, please!”

two fingers slide inside of you, and you’re a goner.

izuku midoriya eats you out like he has something to prove—sloppy, attentive, indulgent, and so, so agonizingly eager.

a mixture of cum and drool drips down your thighs, shiny under his bedroom lights, and he takes a break from mouthing at your cunt to lick up the mess he’s made, eliciting a chocked moan from you.

“yeah?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, as if he doesn’t currently have his middle and ring finger knuckle-deep in you and curling while his index finger languidly circles around your clit.

you gather enough air in your lungs to gasp out, “shit—yeah. please.”

and he’s right back to lapping at you, messily slurping up any juices flowing out of you as his fingers scissors inside of you, his body pressing down on yours, legs hooking around his shoulders and giving his free hand access to twist as your nipples. it’s so, so much. he’s absolutely ravenous, a beast on a mission to enjoy every last bit of his prey while you are helpless to moan and cry out beneath him.

a familiar tightness forms in the pits of your guts, and your shaking hands reach out the best they can to pull at his curly hair.

“izu—gonna cum!” you mewl, and that makes him press down into you more.

he gasps out between swipes of his tongue, “cum, baby. go on, cum on my fingers. give it to me.”

it takes less than a second for you to gush around his digits, and he looks more mesmerized than anything to see how beautiful you look coming completely undone, his name a prayer on your lips, your back nearly bowing off of the mattress as your world implodes. it’s easily the best orgasm you’ve ever had, and it’s all thanks to the sweet man with the big, green eyes drinking the sight of you in.

he gives you approximately seven seconds to recover before his mouth is attached between your thighs again, this time with your legs wrapped around his head and your fingers buried in his hair, nose brushing your swollen clit before his tongue strokes between your soaked folds.

you’re thrashing out from the overstimulation of it all, but his hand on your lower tummy helps keep you in place. “izu—fuck! i can’t— it’s too much!”

“do you want me to stop?” he asks, hot breath fanning against your cunt.

you shake your head vigorously, and he chuckles before getting right back to lapping at your throbbing clit.

it isn’t until you’re cumming around his fingers a second time, that izuku realizes that the problem he was having earlier is definitely solved now. his cock is painfully hard between his thighs, throbbing against the bed and tip already sticky with an obnoxious amount of pre.

“one more, baby,” he begs before hooking your legs back over his shoulders one last time. “can you give me one more?”

you’re watching him gather you up with wide eyes, rejection on the tip of your tongue, before you see the damp spot on the sheets you know you didn’t leave. very fucked out and slightly post-orgasm brain dead, you nod dumbly, and his mouth is on you once again.

“god, yes,” he groans out. “taste so fucking good. wanna stay like this forever. your pussy is so addictive, baby.”

he cums untouched in less than a minute, and he thinks it might be the best orgasm he’s ever had.

[meteorologears]

My concept for what would be a Socrates dating sim (you play as Socrates) and you can fuck all the interlocutors while working through their dialogues as part of gameplay. There's 16 here in purple, and I picked four of the five-star ones to color in with more detail (I assume each person's character card would have colors attached. but here's Agathon, Alcibiades, Charmides, and Glaucon) (forgive the incorrect spelling on some names in the purple). It'd be called Logos and Longing: A Truly Socratic Dating Sim

This would, of course, be in the style of a ridiculous anime dating sim that's intentionally a little cringe and overblown (hence people's mini dialogue lines up there and their bios; it's a parody of that and very unserious).

Many more thoughts under the cut, in no particular order:

There are eight stats. Four of them are just character qualities (charisma as their success convincing other people of things, likeability for how much Athens likes them, intelligence in basic smartness, and truth in how much they care about that). Then the other four are the Virtues (justice, sophrosune, courage, wisdom).

Based on your interactions with the interlocutors, you change how much of each virtue they exhibit. What I drew is what I consider their starting levels to be

The number of stars is their 'fuckability' index. Some interlocutors I think are obviously more fuckable and that needed to be represented

A few main plot lines (aside from just each dialogue) would exist:

The Republic plotline. You can romance Thraymachus, Adeimantus, and Glaucon. Glaucon is treated as most fuckable in The Republic, so that's true here as well (he has more stars than Adeimantus)

The Alcibiades plot line. This one goes through the Protagoras, Alcibiades I, and the Symposium (obviously he has his plot line. Who am I kidding?)

You can fuck anyone who was at the Symposium and gave a speech. They're not all good choices (idk what you would do with Eryxymachus, for example. I don't think I made him a card but in my mind he's in there).

The Thirty Tyrants plot line. Basically anyone who was in a dialogue who was involved in the Thirty Tyrants gets involved here. New and interesting ways for you to romance people while they're doing that.

Everything else is just like stand-alone episodes with the dialogues. You have some options, you go through all the main logical points of the dialogue, and then you have opportunity to romance the interlocutor

Inter-NPC interactions:

I figured since most of these people would have known each other, you can impact your relationships with other interlocutors based on who you romance.

If you romance either Glaucon or Charmides, you piss off Critias to some degree (Charmides was his cousin iirc and Glaucon was recorded as his beloved. So. He wouldn't love that I assume)

That's generally true for most people in the erastes/eromenos relationships. If you go after one who's already in a relationship, that might cause NPC strife later on for you. The same thing if you romance an NPC who has some familial relation that's also in the game

You can romance Pausanias and Agathon both, but if you go after just one, you'll get jealousy or anger from the other. If you keep a good relationship with Pausanias in one way or another, he'll try to help you out when you go on trial. Agathon and Pausanias is one of the only ones where you can romance both simultaneously and create some kind of weird three-way situation

If you romance anyone who isn't Alcibiades, he gets annoyed. Thankfully you can win him back but he won't be happy about it

Glaucon and Adeimantus both get jealous if you romance the other

The game would sort of be non-linear, to the point where you can make decisions in flashbacks that change your current interactions with the interlocutors. You can "alter" the historical record by making specific choices (an example would be depending on if you can raise your own 'likeability' stat high enough, you could get closer to avoiding the death sentence--but you couldn't actually escape it fully, just slightly change the outcome. Or alternatively, if you manage to get enough philosophy into Alcibiades, he'll dial it back just a tiny bit, enough for his name to not be used during your trial. Things like that).

Game ends when you die

You can get different achievements unlocked based on how close to maxing out other people's romance bars you are, or based on how high their virtue bars get after talking to you (since you can make people more virtuous by choosing the right options in your dialogues)

You can also raise or lower your own virtue. If you resist other people's advances often, your 'sophrosune' bar goes up. If you accept all of that and libations and everything, it goes down.

If you lower your own virtues or likeability too fast, you get put on trial faster (you can slow this process if people like you, but after the end of the thirty tyrants arc, it's really the beginning of the end)

Different characters will help you out by gifting you things if you romance them (this doesn't even mean full romance, it's more if you cross a certain threshold), and you can potentially unlock additional scenes (ones that aren't in dialogues, or are very side-bars in dialogues, or exist in the historical record or thucydides or something instead)

You can get a fade-to-black with *most* characters (i say most because some are omitted from this despite being "romanceable")

Layout of who's what level:

Five stars: Alcibiades (obvious), Glaucon (Socrates clearly likes him best in the Republic and lets him have the very best allegories), Charmides (what the hell is the opening to this dialogue. come on now. in this dating sim Charmides would be 18 at least during that dialogue; not sure what it is in the actual platonic canon), Phaedrus (this entire dialogue is basically them going on a riverside picnic to give speeches about love), Agathon (Socrates is already trying to glom onto him in the Symposium. for some reason)

Four stars: Crito (he obviously cares deeply. we all need a Crito in life), Lysis (the only one interlocutor you can't fuck because he's too little. your 'romance' here is just garnering his affection) and by extension Menexenus (same deal as Lysis. just getting affection, nothing more. also Lysis-aged)

Three stars: Aristophanes (vulgar, Socrates probably liked him better before The Clouds dropped), Pausanias (symposium participant; agathon's loving boyfriend), Adeimantus (dollar store Glaucon. sorry), Laches (that dialogue opens with them talking about if hoplites should be training naked or not. ok)

Two stars: Theatetus (he's just here. idk), Protagoras (general sophist behavior; mid; Socrates has better prospects), Critias (tyrannical soul fail)

One star: Thrasymachus ("might makes right", obnoxious and also a sophist again), Euthyphro (that entire dialogue is just him getting deservedly dragged. hate fuck situation if anything. he's annoying)

Obviously i'm leaving some out so if you read this and see your favorite interlocutor missing sorry. anyway if i had an ounce of coding capability in my blood i would make this. im tempted to just make it a scripted story alone (no art or anything, just music and choosing the options and people's stat bars) but whatever.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

It was another competion the entire family all shoving and pushing each other into the car to see more of Damian's art.

Tim is excited for Damian.

He knows what it's like, to stand there and have no one show up. To be there all by yourself for hours the only one to visit your booth being the art teacher.

Ms. Carrington who would ask questions and ignore the tears that pooled in his eyes before helping him pack everything up, sometimes even driving him home because of course neither his parents or Bruce could be bothered to pick him up.

He can't really help the envy that he can feel building in his chest mixing with a good chunk of repressed anger.

A elbow being jabbed into his ribs distracts him.

"Hey what's with the face? Perk up Boy-Loser it's Damian's night."

He turns to Steph the smile that he had been attempting to plaster on falling. It's such a stupid thing it's a nickname so what if it's demeaning, he gets called pretender or replacement by Jason what does it matter.

"Do you ever think it's kinda fucked up that not a single person in this family calls me anything that isn't an insult?" He snaps.

She looks shocked. How fucking dare he have an ounce of self esteem. Someone alert the Media Tim Drake isn't a dormat.

He turns away sliding into the crowd.

There's less then half an hour left before he can leave. Pratically throwing himself down in the empty hallway as far as he can get from this entire night.

"Baby bird and Timmy aren't insults? Or are they I can't seem to keep up with the kids these days."

He turns, of course. You might be able to run from Batman or lie to him, but you can never escape the grasp of Big Brother Nightwing.

"So your admitting that your old?" he joins the banter.

His muscles start to unclench another superpower only Dick Grayson seems to have.

"Never, something you want to talk about?"

Does he? No. Should he? Yah.

"Maybe I just don't want be insulted every day of my life. So weird who doesn't want to be reminded they suck?"

He can hear the whine, he can also hear that everything he just said isn't gonna matter. You don't take whiny little boys seriously. And that's what he is.

"Hmm you know I get called Dickhead or really a lot of just penis related jokes. Always hated them not that it really stops anyone."

He looks finally making eye contact with his big brother. Because he's right. How many times has he heard anyone in the family other than him and Damian call Dick anything nice. Never not once. Maybe Bruce but he can't really picture it.

"Also don't think I didn't notice how annoyed you are with Bruce about this entire night, which I don't blame you for. You know I love Damian kiddo, but yah Bruce is not winning a mug from me or you."

He doesn't really want to acknowledge any of that already exhausted and he will have to apologize to Steph and if he opens the box it will be a car ride from hell home.

"Luckily for you I have a car parked a block up we can escape get ice cream and have a nice sleepover in bludhaven."

He wants to so bad, he wants to throw himself at Dick who knows him so well, who followed him out here, who isn't blinking, the only adult who has ever not somehow fucked him over.

"What about Damian? He will be pissed at me for stealing you or something. He doesn't need another reason to stab me."

He turns to look back at the floor.

"Foolish Drake I will be coming with you Father is being insesently annoying and I much rather talk about art with someone who has a brain cell."

Both him and Dick whip around to see Damian standing there a slight blush on his face hesitation making the corner of mouth twitch. He sees Dick looking on unsure. He doesn't hesitate.

"Thank god I know a great place with that Vegan Cookie Dough you like. What you waiting for Big Bird? Let's go. "

Climbling to his feet he grabs Dick and Damian dragging them to the exit he hears Dick's confused muttering sharing a secret smile with Damian before ignoring it.

The night is finally looking up.

[panncakes]

"Drive safely."

LAWS OF ATTRACTION (2023)

[ponchcronch]

I AM DRAWING THE MONKE, THIS NOT A DRILL, I AM DRAWING THE MONKE‼️‼️

[canayams-art]

.

[fourmoony]

Guys I know I said I was taking a break but I just came on here to post that for WEEKS I have been driving myself crazy thinking ive been imagining sheep noises from my bedroom window.

I literally gaslit myself into thinking I had tinitus or something. Turns out!!!! MY NEIGHBOURS HAVE GOATS?????? I live in a housing estate. Sure, it’s technically the countryside but it’s a town, the farms are all like ten/fifteen minutes from us. They literally just have goats that live in their house/back garden.

And it made me think.

This is one hundred percent without a doubt something Sirius would do. He’d see a goat. Take it home. Remus would have to walk out the back door and back inside several times before he believed it. Sirius would be all ‘look rem! it’s a goat!’ and he’d be all ‘uh, yeah. why?’

Anyway. Hope yall are well! ❤️