#Man if only this translated the way I wanted it to

[peanutheaddd]

(translation:

petey: heeeyyyyy i rreaaaaallyy like youuu... you know that , right ? my cute little puppyyyy

dm: he smells like booze...)

ive been thinking abt dusk au a lot so huge dusk au lore dump under cut Heh.. Hahaha... MY AUUUUUUUUU

their time in high school is called sunset era . their main plot is called . u guessed it . dusk era.

dm is well known within their hometown bc hes basically just . a living science experiment . hes one of the most interesting parts of the town . also he helps out a lot with odd jobs here and there so a lot of people know of him

despite this people still sorta keep their distance from him and dont rlly bother to get close to him . dm is used to this at this point . this is also why cares abt lp so much . this little guy is probs the first person to actually care about him as a person after. yk . petey. Lmfao.

i reckon dm immediately recognizes how lp and petey look nearly identical . i think hed feel weird about it initially (mostly just sad) but eventually just dismiss it as a coincidence . obvs until he meets petey and realizes Okay this is Not a coincidence.

their hometown is like . a mountain town . a town in a mountainous region . yeah

"dog man" used to be a name he was called in high school in like. a Mean way. and he did Not like it. but overtime he just got desensitized to it because Nobody would call him by his actual name . now he truly does not care about being called dog man . its just a title for him .

this is also a part of the reason why he misses petey . he was like the only person to call him greg . he may not care abt being caleld dm but he misses being called greg.

for majority of dusk au petey calls dm dog man . he doesnt call him greg until they acknowledge their shared history . i reckon the first time he calls him greg in dusk era dm gets a little emotional LMFAO

back in high school dm was homeless . he was able to sleep at school bc chief (principal of school) would let him spend the nights in his office . he was like his dad in a way . he couldnt rlly adopt him js bc he had his own life stuff going on and he felt woefully underprepared to have total responsibility of a child especially not a teen but he always made sure he was safe and ate well .

anyways this means that whenever he and petey walked home it was more so dm just walking petey home and making sure he got home safe and then turning around and going back to school . he never told him that . he just pretended like his house was a little further down the road .

the convenience store is also smth that chief helped him with . like getting the actual building in the first place and setting it up

that being said the convenience store is also dms house . theres like a studio in the back that he js lives in .

i think chief has a vague idea that something happened eith dm and petey pregrad and thats the reason dm is insisting on staying in their hometown even tho he used to seem pretty open to the idea of leaving town for his education. this is also why hes kinda skeptical when petey comes back and dm tells him abt how theyve been spending time tgth again ESP when dm tells him that peteys completely avoiding talking about their history . he js wants the best for dm 😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

theres are several canon events during the sunset era:

-> event where petey is riled up and pissed off and lwk freaking out and dm takes him to coin karaoke to get him to blow off steam . they get rlly drunk off of cheap booze and just . generally have a good time . its also one of the fastest and most effective ways petey has Ever been calmed down in his life and he tries to ignore how that makes him feel kinda soft

-> event where dm and petey take a bus to the coast at like 2 am or smth . and they just sorta talk and splash around in the water . Heavily inspired by the yeosu sea . (listen to yeosu night sea by busker busker!) since theyre used to being surrounded by mountains, being in such an open place is very refreshing for them both. esp petey who feels suffocated and trapped by their hometown . like yes his moving away post grad was partially bc of dm but also he never liked their hometown . at all. also smth smth petey being scared of water but dm makes him feel safe and that freaks him out a little (bro is showing vulnerability)

-> event where peteys calling dms bluff and basically syaing ooohh youd never get a piercing and dms like nuh uh try me except when petey tries to pierce his ear he sees the needle and freaks out a little (medical trauma !) . he expects petey to make fun of him (not necessarily a judgement on peteys character more so like a "ooh i acted so tough about it but now im backing out thats kinda cringe 😬😬") but peteys just like man whatever and dm feels a little confused about it . hes used to having to uphold a certain persona of sorts as like someone carefree and dependable so that people dont get unnerved by him being a freak of nature for lack of a better word . like making up for his very existence by being approachable. so seeing petey just. not give a shit that he Obviously has some problems is. idk a litle refreshing ig ? like he doesnt rlly have to uphold a facade in front of him bc he dgaf .

-> confession event ! this happens a very short time before their grad (a few weeks to a month at most) during their walk home. sun is setting, its basically summer so its humid as hell, cicadas are chirping, dragonflies in the air, etc etc .

ok thats al i gyatt for now Heh

[sgiandubh]

Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum...

After one day and a half of suspense, we finally saw the Protodeacon of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal Mamberti (FR), telling us that the Catholic world has a new Pope, the now former Cardinal Robert Francis Prevost, 'who has taken the name Leo XIV'.

Technically at least, he is not the first 'American' Pope in history - that would be simply ignoring Pope Francis, who hailed from South America. But he is the first US-born (to a French/Italian father and a Spanish mother) Pope, which is great, somewhat unexpected news, given the long standing customary veto against the very idea. The reason was, at first, logical, in an era of steamboats and scarce contacts of any American contenders with the intricate games of the Roman Curia - they were simply at risk of reaching Rome too late, when summoned to a conclave! But the modern doctrine, tacitly formulated during the Cold War, was simply meant to avoid any suspicion of a Manchurian papabile, backed and instrumentalized by the CIA. It is, therefore, very interesting (and perhaps ironically serendipitous...) that this conclave ditches such an absurd remnant of an antagonistic geopolitical logic, on the 80th anniversary of V-E Day:

This is also a subtle slap on Donald Trump's cheek, given that atrocious, blasphematory AI-generated image portraying him in papal attire. That he chose to post it on his personal Truth Social account, implicitly bragging, is of course very poor taste and the useless provocation of an insensitive ignoramus. But Pope Leo XIV is also a former Prior General of the Order of Saint Augustine and I see this as poetic justice for JD Vance's shortsighted, tone-deaf interpretation of Saint Augustine's ordo amoris doctrine. To which Cardinal Provost reacted on a very firm tone, only to be told that it was 'enough to google it'. Fun fact: no, it's not and Vance had no business using one of the most beautifully logic theories on love and brotherhood of man to justify the current anti-immigration policy of the Trump administration.

While his attire (the red mozzetta cape, as opposed to Francis' white cassock) clearly signals a moderate approach, the choice of his new name is also a strong affirmation of what is probably going to be a pragmatic and pro-active, socially oriented papacy. The inspiration for this choice, Pope Leo XIII, was the author of 'Rerum Novarum', an encyclical on the value and ethics of labor (1891). This title has been widely translated as 'Of Revolutionary Change', which is not exactly meaning the Vatican was promoting a revolution, but that it was reacting to the emerging Marxist and socialist theories. Its aim was to propose a more balanced approach, that would recognize both the supreme value of private property and the need of an equitable repartition of the respective rights and duties of employers and employees. In the process, this important document stops demonizing trade unions and lays the ideological ground for the European Christian democracy (centrist) political movement.

While some of Pope Francis' legacy will very likely be continued, this much is clear: a younger Leo XIV will definitely want to put his own vision forward. It is too early to tell how he will do it, but we can safely bet the worst is behind us, with Cardinal Burke's failure to garner the conclave's support. The future role of women in a more synodal (not curial) Roman Catholic church, its relationship with the divorced Catholics and the Catholic gay communities around the world or the fight against child abuse are just some of the heaviest issues that cannot wait any longer.

Unlike Saint Francis of Assisi's irresistible appeal, Augustine is perceived as more intellectual, which is a pious way to call him dry. But perhaps two (well-known) quotes will endear him to you, as much as they did to me, a long time ago:

Faith is to believe what you do not yet see; the reward for this faith is to see what you believe.

And, of course: Dillige et quod vis fac. Love and do what you will.

Any coincidence is, of course, coincidental. If I may say so 😉

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Louisiana Saturday Night | Ten. Three

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 13k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, messy family dynamics, generational tenderness, the good kind of exhaustion after a long day in the sun, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re building a life together.

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 repost, translate, or share my work without permission.

📌 Requests: OPEN. I’ll be spending the weekend working through the ones I’ve already received, but feel free to send new ones in.

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

Author’s Note:

This chapter isn’t late. It’s early in that slow, Southern way where everything moves when it’s meant to. We’re back in Louisiana now. Hot sun. Backyard laughter. Plastic cups sweating on porch rails. This is the chapter where Joe meets Riley’s people, and more than that, starts to see himself in the spaces she calls home.

It’s the warmth of a crawfish boil. The chaos of a family that loves loud. The quiet strength of being accepted without fanfare. It’s Joe slipping into rhythm with people he’s never met before, Riley watching it happen, and both of them feeling the weight of something that might last.

This chapter holds that layered kind of intimacy. Not just the bedroom kind, though there’s that too. The real kind. Someone noticing when your grandfather eyes a chair and getting up without needing to be asked. A kid falling asleep in your lap. Someone calling you “family” before you’ve even opened your mouth.

Thank you for being here. For reading, for reblogging, for yelling in the tags, and for letting these characters live a little bigger each time I post. Thank you, too, for all the supportive asks while I finish up finals week. I’m working through the requests that were sent and getting back to everyone. This community has been so amazing and welcoming, and I’m really grateful. Hope this one makes you feel like you were right there on the porch with them.

Happy reading, sugars. 🩵🦞🏡

Taglist: @wickedfun9@starsyoongi@amiets2@palmettogal508@throwaway12356123@lilfreakjez

---

Riley tucked her sunglasses into the neckline of her tank, adjusted the strap of her bag, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. Her bracelets shifted with the motion, a soft clink of metal against skin.

Joe leaned a shoulder against the doorway, relaxed in a gray tee, pale shorts, and sneakers. His hair was still a little damp, his posture loose. Nothing about it was intentional, but he looked settled. Like a man who’d had a good morning.

As she passed him, he reached out, fingers brushing the strip of skin above her waistband. Barely a touch. More instinct than anything.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low, casual.

She paused, glanced back at him with a smile that said she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah,” she said. “You?”

He let his hand fall away as she stepped outside, the screen door creaking open with that familiar, lived-in sound. The morning was thick with sun, jasmine in the air, the kind of slow warmth that made everything feel a little softer.

Joe locked the door behind them, then followed her down the steps toward the car.

She handed him the keys when they reached the driver’s side. “You drive.”

He didn’t argue, just took them, brushing his fingers against hers in the process. Another quiet touch. Another not-quite-accident.

They climbed in, and a minute later, the 4Runner rumbled to life. Windows down. Music on.

She rested her hand on the center console. He reached for it without looking, like it wasn’t even a question.

The 4Runner rolled to a stop in front of a shaded roundabout lined with trimmed hedges and blooming jasmine. Everything about the place was calm, polished, and intentional. Wide wraparound porches. Rocking chairs that looked like they were actually used. The kind of retirement community with a waitlist and its own jazz brunch calendar.

Riley didn’t move right away. She looked out the windshield, one hand resting lightly on the console.

Joe didn’t press. Just watched her.

She grabbed her sunglasses, eyes still on the building. “If he’s not already outside, he will be. He hates missing the morning.”

Joe smiled a little at that, then pushed his door open.

The sun was already warm, light stretching long across the sidewalk. It was quiet, but not still, like the whole place breathed at its own slower pace.

Riley met him at the front of the car, bag slung crossbody, bracelets catching the light.

And then the front doors eased open.

Willis Carter stepped out like he’d been standing just on the other side, watching for them. White tee tucked into dark jeans, a cream mesh trucker hat with Drink Community Coffee stitched in bold red across the front, and his gold watch caught the light as he moved. He moved with that familiar kind of ease, slow but steady, like time answered to him, not the other way around.

“There she is,” he said, his voice warm and smiling. “My baby.”

She didn’t rush; she just walked toward him with that soft smile that only showed up for a few people in the world.

“Hey, Papa,” she said, smiling as she reached him. “Thought you’d be out back in the garden.”

“I ain’t missin’ my girl showin’ up with company.”

He pulled her in for a hug, tight, steady, the kind that didn’t rush anything. One hand tapped gently at her back, and then he eased away, turning his attention to Joe without missing a beat. Willis extended a hand, firm and sure. “Glad to meet you, young man.”

Joe stepped forward, matching the grip. “Joe Burrow. It’s good to meet you, sir."

Willis gave a small nod, pleased. “You carry yourself like somebody raised you right.”

Joe’s mouth curved. “I’ll tell my mom you said that.”

Willis let out a soft laugh. “You can just call me Papa.”

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sir."

Willis pointed a finger, mock-stern. “None of that, sir, stuff either. You’re with my baby; you’re family.”

Riley bumped Joe’s arm lightly with her elbow—just a nudge, like see? told you he’d be cool. Nothing big, just a moment passed between them.

“You ready, Papa? Got any stuff?” she asked, turning back toward her grandfather.

Willis nodded. “Sat my bag right inside the door, threw my meds in it in case we tie one on and gotta stay at your auntie’s.”

“I’ll grab it,” Joe said, already heading toward the porch.

Riley opened the back door and reached out instinctively as her grandfather stepped down off the curb. He took her arm, steadying himself with the same quiet pride he always carried, even when he let her help.

“Ain’t no shame in letting you fuss over me,” he said as he eased into the seat.

“You taught me how,” she said, grinning.

Joe came back a moment later, duffel slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. He popped the hatch, tossed it in the back, then climbed in behind the wheel without a word.

Riley slid into the passenger seat, turning just enough to check on her grandfather in the back.

“You good, Papa?”

Willis gave a short nod, settling in. “Seat’s better than the one in my room. Let’s ride.”

The drive was easy. Late-morning sun was warming the dash, and the windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in. Joe handled the 4Runner like he’d done it a hundred times, quiet behind the wheel, one hand resting loose at the top. Riley adjusted the playlist without asking something low and soulful that made the ride feel longer than it was, in the best way.

Willis kept up a steady rhythm from the backseat, commenting on the roads, the weather, and how good it was to see the two of them together. Not prying, just talking. The way men like him always had to fill the air, not the silence.

By the time they turned off the main road and started down the stretch toward the bayou, it already felt like they’d been riding together for years.

* * *

The 4Runner turned off the highway and onto a long gravel drive, tires crunching slowly as the bayou stretched out on either side. Cypress trees gave way to open sky, and then the house came into view, raised high on beams, pale siding sun-washed and familiar. A wide front porch wrapped around one side, folding chairs already clustered in the shade, and two coolers sat cracked open at the bottom of the steps like they’d been waiting all morning.

Willis leaned forward slightly in his seat. “They already started drinkin’,” he said, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “We late.”

Riley smiled, propping her elbow against the door. “Right on time, if you ask me.”

Joe didn’t say anything, just eased the truck to a stop on the edge of the grass. The air outside was thick with humidity, and the smell of spices from the crawfish boil was already rolling.

A few heads turned as they stepped out.

Riley reached into the back for Popa’s bag and tossed it over her shoulder without a word. Joe came around and opened the door for Willis without needing to be asked.

“Appreciate you, son,” Popa said, slow and easy as he stepped out.

Joe nodded once. No show, no hesitation. Just Joe, solid in the way he always was.

The porch was alive with sound music from a speaker, someone laughing deep in their chest, the metallic clatter of a crawfish pot being stirred out back. People were already settled into chairs, paper plates balanced on knees, beers sweating in every hand.

They’d barely made it halfway across the lawn when the screen door slapped open and a high voice shouted, “RILEY!”

A blur of limbs and wild hair came barreling down the steps. Her little cousin launched herself straight into Riley’s arms with no hesitation and full trust, nearly knocking the duffel bag off her shoulder.

“Hey, baby!” Riley laughed, catching her with practiced ease. “You tryin’ to take me out?”

“You said you weren’t gonna get here ‘til after lunch!” the girl insisted, clinging tight.

“I said around lunch,” Riley corrected, grinning as she hugged her tight. “We made good time.”

Stella glanced over Riley’s shoulder, eyes narrowing like she’d just noticed Joe standing there.

“Who’s that?” she asked, not quietly.

Riley kissed the top of her head, then shifted her onto one hip. “Stella, this is my boyfriend, Joe.”

Stella squinted at him for half a second, then grinned. “He’s cute, Auntie Riley.”

Joe let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. Riley just shook her head. “Don’t gas him up, he already knows.”

Stella giggled, clearly pleased with herself, and tucked in tighter under Riley’s arm like she belonged there.

Riley adjusted the strap of her bag, then glanced at Joe. “Come on.”

They headed around the house, the sounds of the boil growing louder, clinking bottles, music, and someone yelling over a game of dominoes. The kind of noise that meant people were home.

Riley stepped up onto the porch like she’d never left, Stella still glued to her side. She turned, hand lifted casually toward Joe.

“Everyone, this is Joe,” she said, voice clear but relaxed. “We’re going to act like we’ve been somewhere. No autograph requests. No Tigers trivia. Do not corner him about the 2019 season, I beg you.”

A few people laughed. One of her uncles muttered, “I had questions…”

“You can ask ‘em later,” she said, pointing at him with mock sternness. “After he’s had a beer and a plate.”

Then she softened. “You may introduce yourselves now.”

Joe didn’t miss a beat. He offered a hand to the first person who stepped forward, a cousin in his thirties wearing a Pelicans jersey and holding a sweating beer can.

“Welcome,” the cousin said, shaking firmly. “We’ve heard good things.”

Joe smiled, even, easily. “Hope I live up to ‘em.”

Another handshake followed. Then a shoulder clap. One of the uncles said, “You eat spicy?” like it was a dare.

Joe just nodded. “I’ll be alright.”

Riley glanced over in time to see one of her cousins slap Joe on the back, grinning like he already liked him.

She didn’t need to hover; he was fine. Already finding the rhythm of the place.

Still, when she glanced toward the porch and saw her grandfather eyeing a stack of folding chairs near the steps, she didn’t have to say a word.

Joe was already moving, offering a quiet “Excuse me” as he stepped past and went to help.

He grabbed one, popped it open with practiced ease, and held it steady as Willis lowered himself down with a quiet groan.

“Thank you, son,” Popa said, cracking open the beer Joe handed him a beat later. “Ain’t easy gettin’ to be an old man.”

Joe gave a small smile. “You make it look good.”

Riley watched from the side, sunglasses pushed up on her head, arms folded across her chest.

“Mmhmm,” said Stella’s mom, Lena, arms crossed and one brow raised. “I like him already.”

Another cousin leaned in, holding a plastic cup in one hand. “That man saw Papa eye a chair and jumped like it was a drill. We’re keeping him, right?”

Riley tried not to smile too widely. “We’ll see.”

But she was already watching him, her chest a little tighter in that way it always got when someone saw the version of him she already knew.

Joe came back just as the teasing quieted down, setting the chairs where Papa pointed and wiping his palms against his shorts. His eyes found Riley’s without effort, like he was checking in.

She smiled, small but real, and reached for his hand.

“This is Remi,” she said, turning to the girl standing nearby with her arms crossed and a knowing look. “My cousin. She basically grew up on my tour bus.”

Remi stood up straighter, suddenly very aware of herself. “Hey,” she said, too casually.

Joe smiled. “Hey.”

She gave him a quick once-over, then looked at Riley with a grin that was pure teenager. “Stella was right, Riles. He is cute.”

Riley groaned. “Oh my god. You too?”

Remi just shrugged, clearly pleased with herself. “What? I have eyes.”

Riley groaned. “My entire family hates me.”

Joe laughed, easy and unbothered, and Riley reached out to swat Remi’s arm. “Go help your mama set the table.”

Remi started backing away, still smirking. “I will. But tell him to keep that shirt. It’s working.”

Riley shook her head, half-laughing, half-horrified. “I swear I was raised better than this.”

Joe leaned in slightly, voice low near her ear. “I’m kind of enjoying it.”

Before she could answer, someone from the porch called out, “Riley, you better come say hi before Aunt Margie loses her mind!”

Riley winced. “That’s my cue.”

She took his hand again and stepped up onto the porch, tugging him gently along as another wave of cousins and aunts descended with greetings, questions, and unsolicited commentary. Joe held his own, polite and unfazed, answering what he could and deflecting the rest with a charm that didn’t feel put on.

Someone handed him a beer. Someone else asked about Cincinnati winters. At one point, Riley lost track of him in the shuffle just for a minute, and when she found him again, sitting near Papa, relaxed, mid-conversation.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until then.

* * *

Riley popped the lid off a beer, the cap clinking as she dropped it into the bucket by the cooler.

Her aunt leaned in a little, voice low but not secretive. “Ain’t like you to bring somebody ‘round.”

Riley didn’t look over, just took a sip, casual. “Figured it was time.”

Her aunt Delia gave a slow shake of her head, still watching Joe with something between amusement and approval. “Only you would bring himfor your first.”

Riley took another sip, lips twitching into a smirk. “You know me. Gotta go big.”

Her aunt let out a soft hum, amused but not surprised. “Well, you sure did.”

They stood there for a beat, the music low behind them, the pop of conversation drifting across the yard.

Joe was over by the folding chairs, sitting beside Papa while a few of her uncles stood nearby, talking and laughing between sips of beer. His posture was easy, one hand resting on his knee, the other still holding his drink. He looked settled, comfortable already with her family.

Whatever he said made one of her uncles laugh, big and loud, shoulders shaking.

Riley smiled to herself, then stepped off the porch and headed that way.

Joe saw her coming and stood without a word. He grabbed an extra chair from the edge of the circle and set it down beside his, steady and unhurried.

When she sat, he gave her a soft look, then lowered himself back beside her, his knee bumping gently against hers.

He didn’t say anything; he just kept listening as her uncle continued the story. It was something about a fishing trip that went sideways, there was too much beer, and the boat running out of gas. Joe laughed at the right moments, head ducked, clearly enjoying himself.

Riley leaned in just slightly, her hand resting on his thigh for a second, light, familiar before she let it fall.

She didn’t need to say anything. Just being there said enough.

Her uncle glanced her way as the laughter settled.

“Alright now, Riley. What about you? You always out there doin’ somethin’. What’s the latest?”

She smiled, a little shrug in her shoulders. “Just wrapped up some studio stuff in L.A. Working on getting the next record where it needs to be.”

“Tourin’ again this year?”

“Starting later this year,” she said, taking a sip of her beer. “Small run first, then we’ll see."

He nodded, clearly pleased. “Your Papa says y’all got some new songs that’ll knock us sideways.”

Riley glanced at Joe, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “He says that about everything I write.”

Willis didn’t miss a beat. “That’s ‘cause you ain’t wrote a bad one yet.”

Her uncle chuckled, shaking his head. “Man’s got a point.”

Joe didn’t say anything. He just reached over, his thumb brushing a slow line along her leg.

Like agreement.

Like he already understood.

* * *

By the time the boil was ready, the whole yard smelled like spice and smoke and citrus. The table had been lined with newspaper, and the first batch hit the plastic steaming, bright red crawfish tangled with garlic, potatoes, halved lemons, and thick rounds of corn.

Joe didn’t hesitate. He slid into a spot next to Riley, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work like he’d done this a hundred times, which, to be fair, he probably had.

Riley cracked open a crawfish, her fingers already stained red, but barely got two bites in before Popa eased a plate in front of her.

Fried catfish, golden and crisp, picked clean of bones, the way he’d always done for her.

“I know you like the peel and eat,” he said, dropping another piece onto her plate, “but I still don’t trust you not to choke on a bone when you’re talkin’ too much.”

Then, to Joe, without looking up, “She grown, got her own money, and I’m still pickin’ bones out her fish.”

Riley didn’t miss a beat. “Why would I do it when I have you?”

Willis huffed through his nose, shaking his head, already setting another piece on her plate. “Joe, I’m gon’ pray for you, son.”

He glanced at Riley, then back at Willis. “I probably need it.”

Riley leaned back with her beer. “Already I’m getting ganged up on, my God.”

Across the table, a loud giggle erupted. Ryder, shirtless and barefoot, held a corn cob like a trophy as he raced past with Stella chasing close behind.

“Ryder James and Stella Rae, it’s time to eat. Come back here,” Nia called from behind the drink table, already exasperated.

Neither one even slowed down.

“That Playboy,” Riley said, shaking her head with a smile. “Stella’s brother.”

Nia walked up just as Riley started to rise.

“Don’t get up for me,” she said, waving her off. “Hey baby, I heard you were here, but I was tryin’ to get Playboy to nap. As you can see, that was not successful.”

Riley laughed, easing back into her chair. “I see that. How’s my baby nephew doing?”

Nia didn’t miss a beat. “Riley, the kid flirts with his preschool teacher. I don’t know peace.”

Riley tilted her head. “Can’t imagine where he gets that.”

Nia gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

Riley turned slightly. “Nia, this is Joe.”

Nia grinned, already stepping in for a quick side hug. “Oh, I know. Brian didn’t believe me when I told him you were bringing Joe Burrow to the boil. He’s gonna be so pissed he’s offshore.”

Joe chuckled. “Tell him I said hey.”

Nia grinned. “Oh, I will. Right after I rub it in that he missed the whole thing.”

She shook her head, still amused, then reached over to swipe a potato off Riley’s plate like she’d been doing it her whole life.

“You eatin’ that?”

Riley smacked her hand. “Girl, get your own.”

Ryder came tearing back around the side of the house, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat. Stella followed behind, slightly out of breath but still grinning.

The second Ryder spotted Riley, he made a beeline for her, climbing straight into her lap like he’d paid rent.

“Auntie Ry-Ry,” he said, tucking his head under her chin like he belonged there.

Riley wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. “There’s my baby. You finally wore yourself out?”

He shook his head against her, clearly lying. “Nope.”

Nia groaned. “That child hasn’t sat still since dawn.”

Joe watched with an amused kind of awe as Ryder cozied deeper into Riley’s lap, one hand resting possessively on her arm like he wasn’t moving for anything.

“He always like this?” he asked.

Riley didn’t even look up. “Only with me.”

Riley shifted her plate to one side, managing bites with one hand while Ryder settled in against her like a heat source. He wasn’t asleep, just content, thumb hooked in the collar of her shirt, eyes drifting around the yard like he owned the place.

Joe passed her a napkin without needing to be asked.

That’s when Megan appeared, a fresh drink in hand and sunglasses pushed up into her hair.

“Well, look at you,” she said, taking in the scene. “Still the favorite, I see.”

Riley didn’t look up. “Takes no effort, really.”

She finally lifted her head. “Joe, this is Megan.”

Then she glanced over. “Joe, this is Megan, and anything she tells you about me is a lie.”

Megan grinned. “Please. I don’t have to lie — we’ve both done enough dumb shit to keep it interesting.”

From a few chairs down, Papa’s voice cut in, dry and loud enough to carry.

“Joe, dumb shit is an understatement. I’m surprised me and your Gram didn’t have heart attacks with some of the mess they got into.”

Megan burst out laughing. Riley’s face flushed immediately.

“Papa.”

“I mean it,” he went on, undeterred. “They used to steal the car to go pick up their little friends and ride around like they paid the note. And don’t even get me started on the boys.”

“PAPA.”

“And how many times did I catch y’all out back smokin’ the devil’s lettuce, thinkin’ we couldn’t smell it?”

Megan was doubled over, practically wheezing.

Papa just shook his head, grabbing another piece of catfish. “Whole backyard smelled god awful. And there they were, red-eyed and laughin’, actin’ like we didn’t know.”

Megan was crying now, fully gone. Joe leaned back in his chair, grinning like he’d just gotten the best show of his life.

Megan wiped her eyes, barely catching her breath. “Papa, Riley still smokes the devil’s lettuce.”

“MEGAN.”

Papa didn’t even blink. “Baby, trust me. I know.”

Joe choked on his drink. Riley just stared at the sky like she was praying for a lightning strike.

Riley finally looked over at Joe, eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny?”

He bit back a grin. “A little.”

She leaned in, low enough for only him to hear. “Wait till I tell him you smoke the devil’s lettuce too.”

From across the table, Papa’s voice rang out. “I heard that!”

Everyone cracked up. Joe leaned back in his chair, laughing hard now, shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath.

Papa pointed his fork without looking up. “And Megan, don’t act like you don’t either. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Megan threw her hands up. “Okay, but I’m discreet.”

Papa just shook his head. “Y’all think you’re slick. You ain’t.”

The table was still buzzing with laughter when Nia stepped over, her voice dropping as she glanced down.

“Lord, look at him. Knocked out cold.”

Riley looked down and saw Ryder fast asleep in her lap, head heavy against her chest, curls damp and cheeks flushed from the sun.

“Let me see if I can get him down,” Nia said gently, reaching for him.

Riley eased her arms out from under him, careful not to wake him. “Good luck.”

Nia scooped him up with practiced ease, his little limbs going limp against her shoulder.

“Thank you, Ry-Ry,” Nia murmured with a tired smile. “Been tryin’ to get him down all day. He just needed his Auntie Ry-Ry. Maybe now Mommy can get a break before things get wild out here.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and disappeared into the house, her footsteps light on the porch.

The sun had started to dip, shadows stretching longer across the yard. Conversations dropped into softer rhythms. But something in the air had shifted like everyone was waiting for night to fall.

* * *

The sun had dipped low, painting the sky honey-gold. The air buzzed with that soft, tipsy looseness. Folding chairs scattered, drinks refreshed, music louder now, shifting between eras like nobody could agree on a decade.

Someone called for Riley, loud and slurred and joyful. “Get over here, girl!”

She didn’t hesitate. Handed off her beer to whoever was closest and kicked off her shoes without a word. Her cousin grabbed her wrist, and the next thing she knew, she was in the grass, laughing, hips moving, curls wild.

Joe leaned back in his chair, elbow propped, eyes on her the whole time.

She caught his gaze once and flashed a grin, not stopping. 

That’s when she saw her.

Her mom stood near the porch steps, drink in hand. It was the first time Joe had seen her in person, only pictures until now. She was put together, poised, watching with a soft smile and steady eyes. Something about the set of her mouth, or maybe the way she held herself, pulled at something familiar. He could see Riley in her.

Riley didn’t stop dancing. Just lifted a hand, half wave, half acknowledgment.

Her mom nodded back, slowly. Nothing said. Nothing needed.

Joe watched from his seat, one leg stretched long, beer balanced on his thigh. The corners of his mouth lifted, not a grin, just something settled.

He reached into his pocket, thumb swiping once across the screen, and snapped a photo. No flash. No fuss. Just her barefoot in the grass, curls swinging, laughter caught mid-movement.

He tucked the phone away just as quietly.

No one noticed.

But he’d keep it.

The song rolled on. Someone handed Riley a new drink mid-step, and she took it without breaking rhythm.

A few feet away, her mom stepped in closer to the circle of chairs, slow and unhurried.

Joe noticed her before she said anything.

Willis caught her, too, and leaned slightly toward Joe. “Come on, son. Lemme introduce you proper.”

Joe stood as Willis pushed himself up from his chair.

“Joe,” Popa said, patting his shoulder, “this here’s Trina. Riley’s mama.”

Joe offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She took his hand, her smile soft. “It’s real good to meet you, baby. Call me Trina.”

That’s when Riley returned, cheeks flushed from dancing, curls wild, barefoot and glowing with the kind of joy that couldn’t be faked.

“Hey, Momma,” she said, pulling Trina into a quick hug. It wasn’t stiff, just… careful.

“I see you met Joe.”

Trina glanced over at him, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Mm-hmm… Y’all didn’t tell me he was that tall.”

All three of them laughed, Joe, Riley, and Willis too, like that broke whatever thread had been stretched a little too tight.

Riley shook her head, grinning. “I was surprised by how tall he was, too.”

“You want me to fix you a plate?”

Trina waved a hand. “Baby, sit down and relax. I’ll find my way.”

She gave Riley a quick squeeze on the arm before making her way across the yard, hugging folks, catching hands, slipping into the flow of the gathering like she’d never left it. Someone pointed her toward the food, and she was gone, easy, effortless.

Riley watched her go, lips pressed into something not quite a smile.

Joe’s hand found the back of her chair.

“You okay?”

She nodded once, still watching the space her mom had been. “Yeah. It’s just… good to see her like that.”

Joe didn’t press. Just leaned in a little, his shoulder brushing hers.

Riley stayed where she was, still barefoot in the grass beside Joe and Popa, the three of them hovering near the folding chairs and crumpled napkins, close enough to the music to feel it, but not right in it.

For a minute, nobody said anything. Just the low hum of the party around them, the sun sliding down, and the soft scratch of a second boil being stirred out back.

Willis shifted his weight, brushing his hands off. “I’m gon’ go see what your Uncle Ray’s hollerin’ about over there. Man’s been talkin’ like he forgot I taught him everything he knows.”

Riley grinned. “Remind him.”

Popa gave her a wink and patted Joe’s shoulder on the way past. “You good, son?”

Joe nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Joe dropped into the nearest folding chair, legs stretching out, arms draped over the sides like the day had finally caught up to him.

Riley followed, slow and unhurried, drink still in hand. When she reached him, she didn’t hesitate.

She just lowered herself into his lap, soft and sure, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Joe didn’t say anything. Just wrapped one arm around her waist, the other falling across her thigh, fingers resting against bare skin like he belonged there.

Riley leaned back into the curve of Joe's chest, her head resting against his shoulder. The sun was dropping lower now, glowing golden through the cypress trees and casting everything in a dreamy haze. The afternoon had mellowed into evening, the initial frenzy of family introductions settling into something easier, more familiar.

"You survived," she murmured, taking a sip of her drink.

Joe's thumb traced a lazy pattern on her thigh, his body warm and solid beneath hers. "Was there ever any doubt?"

“Honestly? No.” She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth. “You won Papa over in ten minutes. I think that might be a record.”

"It was the crawfish technique," Joe said, deadpan. "Those years at LSU finally paid off."

She laughed, soft and genuine. "That, and the way you actually listened when he started in on his fishing stories. Most people's eyes glaze over by story three."

Around them, the Carter family gathering rolled on in its usual gentle chaos. Cousins argued over music by the speaker system. Uncles manned the grill with unnecessary intensity. Her aunt Vivian held court near the punch bowl, gesturing wildly as she retold some family legend that grew more dramatic every time she told it.

"Your family's exactly like you said they'd be," Joe observed, his voice low and close to her ear.

"Too much?"

"Perfect," he corrected. The certainty in his voice made something catch in her chest.

From across the yard, Riley saw her cousin Megan watching them, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She'd cornered Riley earlier by the coolers, whispering, "Girl, that man looks at you like you hung the moon," before Riley could brush her off with a laugh.

But sitting here now, feeling the steady rhythm of Joe's breathing against her back, she wondered if Megan had seen something true.

"What are you thinking?" Joe asked, his voice pulling her back to the present.

Riley's fingers found his where they rested on her leg, intertwining without thought. "That this was easier than I expected. You, here. With them."

She felt rather than saw his smile, his cheek brushing against her temple. "They're important to you," he said simply. "So they're important to me."

The words weren’t flowery or dramatic, but they landed with weight all the same. Solid and real, like everything about him. Riley closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the evening and the certainty of his presence wash over her.

They stayed like that a bit longer, the sounds of the yard folding around them. Cicadas started up in the trees. Music drifted through bad porch speakers. Someone laughed too hard somewhere off in the distance.

Then a cousin ambled over, her younger one, phone already in hand.

“Y’all look disgustingly sweet right now,” she grinned, angling the camera before Riley could protest. Click.

Riley didn’t even pretend to swat her away. She just smiled and leaned back harder into Joe’s chest.

“Send me that,” she said softly.

"Already did," her cousin replied, tapping at her phone with purpose. "And to Egan. And Laura. And everyone else who told me to gather intel." She glanced up, eyes dancing with mischief. "For the record, quarterback, nobody thought you'd be this comfortable with the whole family circus."

"Everyone has made it easy." Joe's words were simple and direct - typical Joe - but his voice carried a quiet sincerity that made Riley glance up at him. His expression was open, unguarded in a way he rarely showed around people he didn't know well.

Her cousin grinned, clearly pleased with this response. "Well, we like you, too, Joe Burrow." She gave a little mock salute. "I'll leave y'all alone now."

As her cousin wandered back to the group by the speakers, Riley felt Joe's thumb brush absently against her hip, a small, unconscious movement that spoke volumes. She relaxed deeper into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"You really mean that?" she asked quietly. "About it being easy?"

Joe's chin rested lightly on top of her head. "Yeah. Your family's... real. No pretense."

"They can be a lot," Riley said, watching as her uncle Ray launched into what appeared to be an animated play-by-play of some long-ago fishing triumph, complete with dramatic arm gestures.

"So can you," Joe pointed out, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm used to it."

Riley elbowed him gently in the ribs, but she was smiling. From across the yard, she caught Papa watching them, a quiet satisfaction in his expression that made something warm bloom in her chest. She'd been so nervous about this day, about Joe meeting the people who had shaped her, about whether he'd fit into this chaotic, loving world that had nothing in common with his carefully ordered life.

But he had slipped into place like he belonged here. Not trying to be someone else, not awkwardly hanging back, just being Joe, with his quiet attentiveness and understated charm.

The string lights flickered on overhead as the sun dipped lower, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. The evening air wrapped around them, warm and heavy with the scent of spice and sweetness.

Riley felt Joe shift slightly beneath her. "Maybe we should go get some of that cobbler now," he suggested, his voice low. "Before your family thinks I'm hogging you all to myself."

"Would that be so bad?" she asked, tilting her face up to his.

Joe's eyes met hers, steady and certain. "No," he said simply. "But I've got all night with you. They don't."

The consideration in those words, the easy way he acknowledged what mattered to her without making it a sacrifice, made Riley's heart tighten in her chest. She nodded, her hand finding his as she stood.

"Come on then, lovey," she said, tugging him up. "Let's go see if Papa saved us any of the good stuff."

Their fingers remained intertwined as they crossed the yard toward the dessert table, the evening unfolding around them.

* * *

After the cobbler, the gathering settled into that lazy evening rhythm where time seemed to stretch and slow. More drinks appeared, stories grew louder, and the music shifted to something deeper and more soulful. Joe found himself drawn into a spirited debate about college football with Riley’s uncles while Riley sat nearby, legs draped over his, nursing what had to be her second or maybe third bourbon of the night on top of the beer.

She laughed at something one of her cousins said, head tipping back, curls catching the glow of the string lights.

Then her gaze settled on Joe. A long look, quiet and searching.

His cheeks were flushed, his drawl a little slower than usual, hand resting on her shin like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Hey,” she murmured, leaning in close so only he could hear. “We’re definitely too drunk to drive, right?”

Joe didn’t even blink. “I knew that two bourbons ago.”

They went looking for Popa and found him near the fence line, sitting in a lawn chair and holding court with two of her uncles over a bottle of something no one had officially admitted to bringing. His laugh rolled deep, loose, and familiar.

“We can’t drive home,” Riley said as they approached, her tone more amused than concerned.

Willis looked at her, squinting just a little. “Why you think I packed a bag, baby?”

Before she could answer, Aunt Delia passed behind them, towel slung over her shoulder, already heading toward the house. “Guest rooms are made up. Y’all know how we do.”

Joe gave Riley a look. Of course, they’re already ten steps ahead of us.

Riley just laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly? It’s kind of sad how well this family knows me.”

Joe didn’t say anything just brushed his hand lightly against hers, like he’d heard what she didn’t say out loud.

Willis raised his cup slightly in her direction. “Ain’t sad, baby. It’s love.”

* * *

They stayed out a while longer, soaking in the last of the evening. The music dimmed to background hum, and the crowd began to thin, cousins slipping away with sleepy kids, uncles hugging with one arm and balancing leftover containers with the other.

Riley stayed curled against Joe, shoes still off, her head resting on his shoulder. His fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles against the back of her hand.

Aunt Delia stepped out onto the porch, a hand on her hip, a dish towel slung over her shoulder like it lived there. “Come on, cher,” she called, voice warm and sure. “Let me show y’all your room and where we keep the good towels.”

Riley smiled, tired but content. “That’s our cue.”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet, the hum of the window unit blending with the clinking of dishes being stacked in the kitchen. Someone had left a plate of cobbler on the counter, half-covered with foil. The smell of spice and sugar still hung in the air.

Aunt Delia padded ahead of them barefoot, moving through the house with practiced ease. “Y’all are in the blue room at the back,” she said over her shoulder. “Clean sheets, two fans, and the good towels don’t let me hear you say I didn’t treat y’all right.”

She opened the door and flipped on the light, revealing a cozy, well-loved guest room with mismatched quilts, a cross above the dresser, and the faint scent of lavender rising from a linen spray someone had used hours earlier.

Riley stepped inside first, taking it in with a small smile. “Haven’t stayed in this room since I was, like, sixteen.”

Aunt Delia smirked. “Still yours, baby. Just with better sheets.

She gave Joe a wink. “No funny business, quarterback.”

Then she was gone, door swinging gently shut behind her.

Riley padded across the room, the floor cool against her feet, her steps uneven in that slightly-too-much-bourbon way. She flipped off the light and muttered, “Too bright,” as if it had personally wronged her.

The room was dimmed, lit only by a small lamp near the dresser, left on deliberately, like Aunt Delia knew they’d be coming in late and a little unsteady.

She pulled her shirt off in one long stretch and flung it toward a chair. It missed. She stared at where it landed for a beat, hands on her hips. “Close enough.”

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed and started untying his shoes like it was a tactical operation.

“You good?” Riley asked, still standing in the middle of the room in her underwear, squinting like she was trying to remember what came next.

“Still drunk,” he said without looking up. “But optimistic.”

She snorted. “Optimistic about what?”

Joe looked up at her, finally, his eyes a little heavy, a little amused. “Where the rest of this night’s going.”

Riley blinked, then laughed low and breathy. “Bold of you to assume I’ve got the coordination for anything ambitious.”

Joe leaned back on his hands, grinning now. “Didn’t say I needed you to be coordinated.”

She rolled her eyes, but her hands were already behind her back, unclasping her bra and sliding the straps off like it took absolutely no effort. She tossed it somewhere near the chair graveyard and stretched her arms overhead, unbothered.

Joe pulled his shirt off over his head, then stood to ditch his shorts, leaving him in just boxers and that slow, steady focus of his.

And that’s when he saw it.

Folded neatly at the foot of the bed like a final act of betrayal, an LSU throw blanket, loud and proud in purple and gold.

His voice was quiet. Suspicious.

“Is that…?”

Riley followed his gaze and groaned. “Oh my god.”

Joe blinked like it physically hurt, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “Babe.”

She held up her hands. “I swear to God, that wasn’t intentional. Nobody even thought about it.”

He was already laughing, quiet but doubled over. “Your whole family managed to act normal all day, and this, this is what gives them away?”

“It’s not a statement,” she said, grabbing a pillow and swatting at the blanket like it had personally offended her. “It’s just… it’s Louisiana. That thing’s probably been here since 2009.

Joe wiped his hand over his face, still grinning. “They had one job.”

“They nailed that job,” she shot back. “Very few people asked for a photo. Nobody made you reenact a touchdown. This is nothing. This is harmless. This is—” she paused, looking at the blanket again—“actually kind of hideous.”

Joe glanced at it. “It’s not that bad. And it’s cold. It looks soft. I vote we sleep with it.”

Riley stared at him, then at the tiger. “Fine. But I don’t want to hear from anyone how you told them you came to meet my family and they had an LSU shrine in the guest bedroom.”

Joe grinned as he tugged it over them. “My lips are sealed.”

She tugged the blanket over them, muttering as she settled in, “Go Tigers.”

Joe leaned in, smug. “That’s the spirit.”

They shifted, finding that loose kind of closeness that only happens when you’re both full, a little drunk, and still warm from the day. Her leg slid over his without thinking. His hand found her hip like it always did, automatically, absent-minded.

After a moment, Riley exhaled. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

Joe’s voice was low, steady. “I had a lot of fun.” He paused, his thumb brushing across her skin. “It felt good to just… relax. No pressure.”

She smiled into the dark, heart loosening a little at that. “I’m glad.”

They were quiet for a beat. The fan hummed, someone laughed outside, and the blanket was starting to get too warm, but neither of them moved.

Riley kept her head tucked under his chin, one hand resting on his chest, the other drifting along his ribs. She wasn’t trying to start anything. Not really. But she couldn’t help the way she shifted against him, restless, like her body hadn’t gotten the message her mind was trying to send. She was trying to be good.

Joe didn’t move, but she felt the shift in him, too, how still he went, how his hand at her waist flexed just a little. He’d clocked it. Of course, he had. It’s what he did.

“Birdie,” he said, voice low and rough. “I can’t fuck you in your aunt’s guest room.”

She blinked, startled into a soft laugh. “Why not?”

He turned his head, eyes heavy on hers in the dark. “One, your inability to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” she whispered, indignant.

He just looked at her.

Riley shifted closer, mouth barely a breath from his. “Baby… please.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, gaze dark and steady, like he was weighing every reason he shouldn’t.

She felt him everywhere. The heat of him. The tension he carried in his restraint.

“I mean it.”

“Riley…”

She looked up at him, her voice low. “Do you want me?”

His eyes met hers, steady. “Is that even a real question?”

She shifted against him, bold and breathless. “Then don’t make me beg.”

Joe exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to hold back. “If we do this, you’ve gotta be quiet.”

“I’ll be so quiet, lovey,” she whispered, already grinning. “I’ll be the definition of quiet.”

He gave her a long look, like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or lose it.

“This is such a bad idea.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was the kind of kiss that knocked the air out of her lungs, not because it was sweet, but because it was wild. His mouth on hers, his hand slipping under the curve of her thigh, pulling her in like he’d made up his mind and didn’t plan to stop.

She moaned into it too loudly, and he pulled back, breathless, forehead pressed to hers.

“Quiet,” he reminded, half-laughing.

“I am,” she whispered, laughing too, but she was already shifting under him, wrapping her legs around his waist. “That was nothing.”

He gave her a look. “Riley.”

“I’ll be good.”

“You’re never good.”

Her nails dragged down his back. “And you like that.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, slower. The kind of kiss that left no question where this was going. One hand pressed into the mattress beside her head, the other trailing up her bare side, fingers grazing along the curve of her ribs until she arched against him without thinking.

She felt him smile into the kiss, sharp and smug, right before he pushed her back into the pillows and moved over her, settling between her legs like he belonged there.

And he did.

She gasped when his mouth found her neck, then her shoulder, then kept going. It wasn’t smooth, not really more hungry than careful. But he knew her body, knew the way to move even when he was drunk, and she didn’t want him to stop.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets. He shifted lower, hands dragging down her thighs, pulling her closer like he knew exactly what she needed. There was nothing slow about the way he touched her, just want, messy and familiar, like they’d been waiting all night for this.

She bit down a gasp, one hand flying to her mouth like it might help her stay quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept going, unhurried and unrelenting, like he knew exactly how far he could push her before she broke.

“Joe,” she whispered, already too loud.

He looked up for half a second, brow raised like a warning.

She nodded fast, breath stuttering. “Okay. I know. I know.”

“Fuck,” she gasped, voice muffled, teeth sinking into her knuckles.

Her hand reached for him, shoulder, hair, anything, like touching him might keep her tethered.

It hit fast. Sharp. Her body tensed under his hands, back arching as the sound caught in her throat and stayed there.

He didn’t stop until her legs twitched and her fingers slipped away from his skin.

Then he looked up, annoyingly composed, like he hadn’t just ruined her in her aunt’s guest bed under a damn tiger blanket.

She collapsed back onto the pillows, breath stuttering, legs still trembling against his shoulders.

Joe kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, before pulling back to look up at her, sweaty, flushed, and grinning like he’d just won something.

“You alive up there?”

Riley let out a shaky laugh, arm flung across her eyes. “Barely.”

But her hand was already reaching for him again.

Her hand found his wrist, then skimmed up his arm to his shoulder. She hooked her fingers behind his neck, coaxing him closer.

She kissed him hard, tasting herself on his mouth and not caring even a little.

“Your turn,” she murmured against his lips, already shifting her body, already rolling him onto his back like she wasn’t done with him yet.

Joe didn’t argue. Didn’t even pretend to protest. He just let her take him down, breath catching as her fingers skimmed his stomach, slipping lower.

She didn’t think too hard about it, just kept moving, mouth hot and a little clumsy, hand stroking in time because that’s what felt good, what made him groan low in his throat like he couldn’t help it.

He shifted under her, hips jerking once, then again.

“Shit—Baby—”

His voice cracked around her name, and it only made her want to keep going, to see how far she could push him.

Her jaw ached. Her hair was in her face. She was losing her rhythm a little, but he didn’t seem to care, just cursed under his breath like she was undoing him piece by piece.

Then his hand slid into her hair, twisting, guiding, just enough to help her take him deeper.

A little rough. A little careless. Exactly how she wanted him.

When he tugged her up, she went willingly, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she crawled up his body, laughing under her breath. Low and smug, cheeks flushed, hair a wreck.

Then his hand was in her hair again, harder this time, pulling her into another kiss. Messier. Deeper. Like he needed to feel her everywhere at once.

She laughed into it, drunk on the sound he’d made, the way his body was strung tight beneath hers like he couldn’t take another second.

“I wasn’t done,” she murmured against his mouth, smug and breathless.

Joe’s hand slid down to her hip, fingers digging in like he was trying to hold her still. “You’re done, baby.”

But she wasn’t.

She reached between them, found him, and sank down slowly, her breath catching hard in her throat.

He cursed under his breath, hands tightening at her waist.

She started to move slowly and deliberately, her head tipping back as she found her rhythm. The creak of the mattress, her soft gasps, the way her nails dug into his chest, it was all too much.

Then she made a sound high, unsteady.

Joe sat up just enough to press his hand over her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered against her jaw. “You gotta stay quiet.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body twitching around him.

But she didn’t stop.

And neither did he.

Every time her hips met his, her breath caught louder than the last little gasps, half-suppressed moans that weren’t going to stay hidden much longer.

“Riley,” he warned, voice rough in her ear. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

She just smiled, drunk and wrecked, and riding him like she wanted to make it worse.

That did it.

He grabbed her by the waist, flipped her onto her back in one quick motion, and pushed back in before she could say a word.

She bit down on a cry, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.

His mouth was at her throat now, hand over her mouth, rhythm deep and steady.

“Be quiet,” he muttered, breath hot against her skin. “You said you could.”

She tried. Swallowed the sound. Nodded against his cheek, eyes fluttering.

“I can,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I—Joe—fuck—”

The next thrust pulled the sound out of her anyway, sharp and desperate.

His eyes stayed on hers, his hand firm against her mouth, holding her to it.

He felt it before she said it, her whole body tightening, breath catching sharp in her throat, her hands gripping at his shoulders like she needed something to hold her down.

Then she made a sound, high, helpless, too loud.

“Shh,” he breathed, pressing deeper.

Her body shattered beneath him.

He held her there, muffled and shaking, his hand still firm over her mouth, his rhythm not letting up.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her ear.

She was still trembling underneath him, breath hot and uneven against his palm, eyes glassy with the aftershock.

Joe didn’t stop.

His pace stayed steady, deeper, not faster like he needed to feel every second of her still clenching around him.

Her hands slipped up his back, dragging, gripping, anchoring.

And then he cursed low, sharp, real, and buried his face in her neck.

She felt the stutter in his rhythm, the way his whole body locked up, hips pressing deep as he came.

He groaned against her skin, quiet, strained his hand slipping from her mouth as he started to come down.

They stayed tangled, breathless and sweating and a little stunned, the room too warm and too quiet and somehow not quiet enough.

Joe stayed there for a moment, head buried in her neck, breath still catching. His body was heavy on hers, but not too much. Just enough to feel like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Riley didn’t say anything.

Her hands moved slowly up his back, calming him, grounding herself.

Eventually, he shifted, pulled out, pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then rolled onto his side, arm draped across her stomach.

The room was still. Dim. Hot.

She stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling, hair sticking to her skin, heart still thudding like she hadn’t fully come down.

“Think anyone heard us?” she asked after a beat, voice raw.

Joe didn’t open his eyes. “I pray they did not,” he muttered. “But if they did… your aunt’s never letting us sleep in this room again.

That made her laugh softly and exhausted as she curled in closer, leg slipping over his.

He reached blindly for the blanket, tugged it up over both of them, then slid his hand back to her waist.

Neither of them said another word.

The room went still again, humid, quiet, and full of everything they didn’t have to say out loud.

* * *

Riley woke slowly, mind surfacing through layers of sleep with unusual reluctance. The room was bright, too bright for early morning, and warm despite the fan spinning lazily overhead. She blinked, disoriented, before recognizing the faded blue walls of Aunt Delia's guest room.

She turned her head, finding Joe still asleep beside her, a sight so rare it took a moment to process. Joe Burrow, a professional early riser disciplined to his bones, was still deep in sleep, with one arm flung above his head and breathing steady and deep.

Riley propped herself up on one elbow, studying him with quiet surprise. His face was relaxed in sleep, softened somehow. Less guarded. The furrow that usually sat between his brows had smoothed out, making him look younger.

Her eyes moved to the bedside clock and widened.

10:47 AM.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

She couldn’t remember the last time Joe had slept this late. Even after long flights or nights where they hadn’t gotten much rest, he was usually up early, body clock sharp, instincts wired for discipline.

The bourbon must have hit him harder than either of them realized. That, or maybe he felt safe here, surrounded by the casual warmth of her family. The thought made something tighten in her chest.

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting stripes across his bare chest, catching on the sheets tangled at his waist. Outside, she could hear voices, the deep rumble of Uncle Ray, Aunt Delia's warm laugh, the clatter of what was probably lunch prep. The crawfish boil aftermath always stretched into the next day, with Aunt Delia transforming leftovers into something new but equally delicious.

Riley slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb him. Her body ached pleasantly, reminding her of the night before Joe's hands, his mouth, the way he'd looked at her in the dim light. The gold bracelet caught the sunlight as she stretched, still circling her wrist where she hadn't bothered to remove it.

She found her clothes from the night before, tugging them on quietly. Joe still hadn't stirred. Part of her wanted to wake him; it was so rare to catch him like this, vulnerable and still, but she let him sleep. He'd earned it after yesterday, handling her family with that quiet grace that seemed to come so naturally to him.

The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the bathroom. She winced at the sight of herself in the mirror, hair wild, mascara smudged despite her attempt to wash it off the night before, a faint mark at her collarbone that definitely hadn't been there yesterday morning.

“A hickey. That I can’t cover up. Amazing. Truly.”

She did what she could with what was available, finger-combing her hair, stealing a bit of Aunt Delia's moisturizer, scrubbing away the last traces of yesterday's makeup. When she finished, she looked less like a disaster and more like someone who'd simply slept well.

The scent of coffee and something fresh herbs and butter and the lingering aroma of yesterday's spices drew her toward the kitchen. She paused in the hallway, taking in the familiar family photos that lined the walls. There she was at sixteen, all awkward angles and too-big smile, arm slung around Papa's shoulders. And there, her high school graduation, The Rambles in their earliest form standing beside her, all of them impossibly young.

Papa sat at the kitchen table when she entered, newspaper spread out before him, half-empty coffee mug at his elbow. Aunt Delia moved efficiently between pots on the stove, her house dress swaying with each step. The radio played softly something old and country that Riley recognized from childhood mornings.

"Well, look who finally joined the land of the living," Papa said, looking up with a knowing smile.

Riley crossed to him, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "Morning, Papa. Or what's left of it."

"Barely," he teased, but his eyes were warm. "Your young man still sleeping?"

"Yeah." She moved to the coffee pot, pouring herself a generous mug. "Think we wore him out yesterday."

“That boy handled himself just fine. He even kept his cool when Ray brought up that Georgia game, as if he were personally responsible for it,” Aunt Delia said, flipping something in the skillet. “Better than I would’ve done.”

Riley smiled into her coffee. She hadn't witnessed that particular exchange, but she could imagine it: Joe's quiet certainty versus Uncle Ray's bombastic opinions. No contest, really.

"Anyone else still here?" Riley asked, leaning against the counter.

Aunt Delia nodded toward the back porch. “Couple of your cousins stayed the night. Megan and the boys are out back picking through what’s left of the boil."

Papa folded his paper. “Might be enough crawfish left for a poor man’s étouffée. Or a hangover cure, if we’re being honest.”

Riley grinned over the rim of her mug. “Might need that more than the coffee.”

"You want to wake that boy up or let him sleep? Because lunch is about twenty minutes out, and I'm not reheating."

Riley sipped her coffee, considering. "I'll give him another ten minutes. If he's not up by then, I'll go check."

Papa studied her over his reading glasses, something knowing in his expression. “He’s a good one, Riley,” he said quietly. “Got a calm to him you don't.”

The simple approval in those words from the man whose opinion mattered most to her made Riley's throat tighten unexpectedly. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak right away.

Aunt Delia didn’t say anything, but Riley felt her glance quick, sideways, like she’d clocked the moment but wasn’t about to interrupt it.

Riley took another sip of coffee, letting the quiet stretch just long enough to settle.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway, followed by the soft sound of footsteps. All three of them turned as Joe appeared in the doorway, hair still rumpled from sleep, eyes slightly narrowed against the bright kitchen light. He wore last night’s shorts, a T-shirt, and socks but no shoes, and his steps were quiet on the wooden floor.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the domestic scene: Riley by the coffee pot, Papa at the table, Aunt Delia stirring something that smelled like childhood and home.

"Morning," he said finally, voice rough with sleep.

"Afternoon, almost," Riley corrected, a smile spreading across her face at the sight of him. She'd never seen Joe look so... disheveled. It was oddly endearing, this crack in his usually impeccable composure.

Joe blinked, then glanced at the clock on the wall. His eyes widened slightly. "Jesus," he muttered. "I never sleep this late."

"Bourbon'll do that," Papa said cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. "Sit down, son. Coffee's still hot."

Joe moved into the kitchen, accepting the mug Riley held out to him with a quiet "thanks." Their fingers brushed during the exchange, a small point of contact that wasn't lost on Papa, who smiled behind his newspaper.

"Sleep okay?" Riley asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Joe reached out, fingers brushing her waist as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Yup,” he murmured. “You?”

The back door creaked open, and Megan stepped inside, sunglasses perched on her head, hair pulled into a loose bun.

Her eyes landed on Joe’s hand at Riley’s waist, and she grinned.

“Glad to see y’all woke up,” she said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “We were about to send a search party.”

Joe just raised his mug in quiet acknowledgment.

Riley didn’t miss a beat. “We were taking our time.”

Megan snorted. “Clearly.”

Aunt Delia didn’t look up. “Y’all better take your time to the table, then. Lunch is ready.”

Riley moved to grab plates, brushing past Megan on the way.

Megan reached out casually, too casually, and tapped two fingers against Riley’s collarbone.

Riley flinched back. “Don’t.”

Megan didn’t say a word at first. Just smiled into her juice like she’d won something. Then, without looking up, “Damn, bitch, you know hell's hot?”

Riley snorted. “I’ll save you a seat.”

They all gathered around the table, Papa at the head, Joe beside him, Riley sliding into the seat across from Megan, who was still trying not to smirk.

Aunt Delia set a cast iron skillet down in the center, steam rising off creamy scrambled eggs laced with leftover crawfish, green onion, and a healthy dose of butter.

“Y’all better eat before it gets cold,” she said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

Papa served himself first, an unspoken rule.

Joe waited, then reached for the spoon. He scooped a generous portion onto Riley’s plate before fixing his own, as natural as breathing.

She didn’t say anything; she just slid a biscuit onto his plate in return.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

The rest of the meal passed in an easy rhythm, plates scraped clean, butter passed back and forth, the occasional laugh from the porch as cousins drifted in and out. No one made a big deal out of anything, which was maybe the biggest deal of all.

Eventually, Aunt Delia stood with a sigh and a stretch. “Y’all go on and get yourselves together. Riley, there’s a basket by the door with your stuff in it. Towels, toothpaste, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” Riley said, already standing.

As they walked back to the guest room, Joe’s hand found the small of Riley’s back, a gesture that had become so familiar she wondered if he even realized he was doing it anymore. The gentle pressure of his palm, warm on the stretch of skin her tank top didn’t cover.

She didn’t say anything. Just let the warmth of his hand settle into her skin as they walked, familiar and steady.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the room fell quiet, just the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the distant sounds of her family in the kitchen. Morning light slanted through the curtains, catching dust motes in its path.

Riley grabbed her toiletry bag from the basket and tossed it onto the bed, then stretched her arms reaching overhead until her spine popped.

Joe stood at the dresser, smoothing out the clothes he’d pulled back on from the day before. He didn’t say anything; he just moved through the room with that same quiet presence he always carried in the mornings.

She passed behind him on the way to the sink, their shoulders brushing. Neither of them flinched.

The bathroom was small. They shared the mirror without talking, her toothbrush already in her mouth, his hand steady as he ran water over his face.

When she leaned down to rinse, he reached past her for a towel, slow, deliberate his palm grazing the small of her back.

She didn’t say anything. Just leaned into the touch, subtle as breath.

* * *

By the time they loaded up Delia’s Tupperware, the house had started to thin out. Folding chairs were stacked beside the porch, the music had been turned down, and only a few cousins lingered in the shade with styrofoam coffee cups and slow movements like no one quite wanted to break the spell of the night before.

Riley moved through the quiet with her checkered crossbody slung across her shoulder, still in the black crop tank and olive knit shorts she’d worn the day before. Her curls were tied up and messy, her skin dewy in the heat, and the gold watch on her wrist caught the afternoon light each time she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Just beneath it, the sleek python bracelet Joe had given her glinted softly, subtle but sure, nestled into her usual stack like it had always been there.

Joe looked much the same: gray tee, pale shorts, and the faintest trace of yesterday’s boil still on him. They hadn’t bothered to clean up beyond a splash of water and a quiet laugh over the state of themselves. Nobody had cared.

He drove. Riley sat passenger, legs folded comfortably, sunglasses perched low on her nose. Willis was in the back seat, hat tipped forward, hands folded over his belly like he’d been chauffeured every day of his life. He didn’t say much, just hummed now and then, low and tuneless, as the tires hummed along the road.

Magnolia Gardens shimmered in the heat when they pulled up, familiar and calm, the front entrance dappled with shadows from the old oak trees.

Joe put the car in park and got out first. Riley opened her door more slowly, adjusting her bag, then circled around to help.

“Y’all could’ve left me at Delia’s,” Willis said, but he let Joe steady him without argument. “I had a whole second wind planned.”

“That second wind was you asleep in a lawn chair until you're sunburned,” Riley said.

“Strategic rest,” he corrected, straightening his cap.

They walked him inside together, Joe still steady at his side. The lobby smelled faintly of lemon polish and someone’s perfume. A few residents waved. The receptionist looked up and smiled. “Back just in time for bingo, Mr. Carter.”

Willis tipped his hat. “Tell ‘em to warm up my chair.”

Riley stayed close to his side as they walked in, her hand brushing his arm every now and then.

At the elevator, Willis turned to her. Reached up and gently cupped the side of her face.

“Come see me later this week,” he said. “Before you go back.”

“I will,” Riley murmured, her voice catching a little. “Of course I will.”

He kissed her cheek, warm and familiar. “That’s my girl.”

She stepped back, giving him space as the elevator dinged behind him. He turned toward Joe then, still calm, still sharp beneath the softness.

Joe stepped forward, and Willis leaned in, keeping his voice low.

“You keep steady with her,” he said. “Don’t flinch when it gets big.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I won’t."

Willis held his gaze a second longer, like he was testing the weight of that promise. Then he gave a small nod, satisfied.

The elevator doors slid open behind him. He stepped inside without another word, raised two fingers in a lazy salute, and disappeared.

Back outside, the heat wrapped around them thick and familiar. Riley adjusted her sunglasses with one hand, the other brushing a curl off her cheek, then exhaled softly.

“I think he likes you,” she said softly, with the kind of quiet certainty she only used when she meant something.

Joe didn’t say anything at first.

He was still hearing Willis’s voice just moments earlier. You keep steady with her. Don’t flinch when it gets big.

And from the night before, when the porch had emptied out, and Riley had gone inside, how Willis had tapped Joe’s knee, passed him a number scribbled on a napkin, and said simply, Call if you ever need help translating her fire.

Riley didn’t know about that. Not yet.

Joe closed her door gently and walked around to his side, that weight still sitting low in his chest.

Once inside, he reached across the console and rested a hand on her thigh. 

And drove them home.

* * *

The house was still when they got home. Not silent just still. Like everything had settled in their absence.

Riley dropped her bag by the door and stood there for a second, not quite ready to move. Joe brushed past her, set Delia’s foil-wrapped leftovers on the counter, then leaned there for a moment like the weight of the day had finally caught up to him.

Neither of them reached for a light. The late sun poured in through the front windows, warm and golden, stretching long across the floorboards.

Riley made her way to the couch, pulling off her shoes as she went. She sank into the corner cushion and tucked her knees up, not saying anything. Joe followed after a beat, sat beside her close enough to feel the heat off her skin, but not touching.

They sat like that for a while. No TV. No music. Just the hum of the house around them, the far-off clatter of someone’s lawnmower down the block.

Riley’s fingers toyed with the bracelet on her wrist, the one he gave her. It caught the light when she moved, subtle and steady.

She didn’t look at him when she said it. “I think I need to lie down.”

Joe nodded. "Okay, you want me to come with you?"

Riley was quiet for a second. “I think I just want to be still for a minute.”

There was no sting in it. Just the truth.

Joe nodded again.

She stood, slow, her body aching in that soft way that always followed family, heat, and too much sun. At the hallway, she turned back.

"Thanks for being with me this weekend."

Joe felt something catch in his chest. How she could say so much in so few words. The gratitude in her eyes went beyond the surface, like she was thanking him for more than just showing up.

"You don't have to thank me." 

She held his gaze for a second longer, then nodded. Quiet. Like maybe she knew that already. 

Then she turned and disappeared down the hall. 

Joe stayed on the couch. 

Watched the dust shift in the sun. 

And didn't move. 

Papa's words from earlier circled back to him. 

You keep steady with her. Don't flinch when it gets big.

The moment at the assisted living facility kept replaying in his mind. Willis leaning in as the elevator dinged behind him, his voice low but clear, eyes sharp beneath the softness. The way he'd held Joe's gaze afterward, testing the weight of his promise not to flinch.

What had he seen that Joe hadn't said out loud? The old man had cut straight to the heart of everything Joe had been wrestling with since the first time Riley's name had appeared alongside his in some speculative headline. 

Joe closed his eyes. Opened them.

The truth was, it was already big. Whatever this was with Riley, it had outgrown the neat boundaries he'd tried to place around it. Every time he thought he had it figured out, contained, she'd do something that blew the whole thing open again. 

Like introducing him to Papa. Like showing him the house where she'd grown up. Like letting him see her in the middle of her family, barefoot and laughing, no persona, no walls. 

It terrified him. 

Not of loving her, that part felt inevitable now, a current he'd stopped fighting. What terrified him was what came after. The camera phones at restaurants. The speculation. The way people would pick apart every interaction, turning something real into content. 

He thought about his tightly controlled life in Cincinnati. The teammates who respected his privacy. The careful distance he kept between who he was and who people thought he was. 

Riley lived differently. She shared herself in fragments with everyone, a song lyric here, a candid photo there. Her band's entire brand was built on authenticity, on the illusion of access. She thrived in that space, turning privacy inside out, making art from exposure.

Could he live like that? Could he watch something this important become public property? 

But maybe that was the wrong question. 

Maybe the real question was, could he walk away just because he was scared? 

Don't flinch when it gets big.

Papa hadn't told him to run. Hadn't warned him off. Just told him to stay steady. Like he already knew what Joe was only beginning to understand, that loving Riley meant making peace with her light, even when it threatened to illuminate the corners he'd kept carefully shadowed. 

Joe exhaled slowly, feeling something settle in him. Not resolution, nothing that clean. But recognition, maybe. Of what this was of what it would ask of him. 

Whatever he called it, whatever name he gave to this feeling that had hollowed him out and filled him back up, it wasn't temporary. It wasn't convenient. And it wasn't something he could control, any more than he could control the tide. 

He was in love with Riley Carter. 

And he had no idea what the hell he was going to do about it.

* * *

Instagram (gossip/fan pages)

@nfltea:

🫣 Is that… Joe Burrow at MSY?

Blurry but those legs don’t lie. Sources say he was spotted in New Orleans this weekend. 👀 Could he be visiting a certain musician we won’t name (but she has strong local ties)? 🦞🎸

@rileycarterupdates:

We’re not saying it’s Joe Burrow.

We’re also not not saying it’s Joe Burrow.

🤭🧢✈️

📍MSY ➡️ Uptown NOLA? 👀

@tigerkingfans:

No way that’s Joe B in Louisiana right now. Who got the location drop? Is this from today??

@deuxmoi (anonymous tip):

“Spotted Joe Burrow in Louisiana this weekend. Apparently seen with Riley Carter at the place her grandfather lives. Word is he was in town to meet the family 👀”

📍New Orleans

RileyCarterNews "BREAKING:

Multiple sources claiming Joe Burrow was spotted at Louis Armstrong Airport this weekend. Timeline Check:

DeuxMoi Recent DM

My friend works at a retirement community in NOLA and swears Joe Burrow was there Sunday picking up an elderly man with a girl who looked like Riley Carter. They were super affectionate and he helped him to the car. Apparently her whole family was there for a crawfish boil. This is getting serious.

Joe Burrow Updates:

Sources say #JoeBurrow was in New Orleans this weekend to meet the fam! 👀 From Super Bowl heartbreak to Riley Carter's arms? Y'all think this is PR or the real deal? Comment below! 👇

Comments:

@RileyCarterUpdates

📸 Riley was spotted grabbing lunch in New Orleans on Friday with friends before the weekend kicked off.

Day before Joe Burrow was allegedly seen arriving at MSY 👀

So Riley was definitely in the city. Just saying. 🧃🦐

@lsuloyalist:

How have they been seeing each other since FEBRUARY and no one has a real pic?? Their friends must have NDAs or halos 😭

@rileyfanaccount:

Not a single uncle or cousin slipped and posted Joe??? Her whole family deserves a trophy for not tagging him once.

@sneakybutsexy:

So we got blurry airport calves and a maybe-lunch sighting in LA. That’s IT. Who’s running this PR team cause they’re surgical.

@rileysleftcurl:

I need to know what kind of group chat has everyone on lock. Not even a sneaky mirror selfie?? No reflection in a sunglass?? Be serious.

@whodatwatcher:

Bro they’ve been doing silent soft launch for MONTHS. Not one slip? Not one tagged pic? We are truly in the era of stealth relationships.

On Megan's crawfish boil carousel:

X(Twitter)

@NFLGossipQueen "Everyone pressed about these New Orleans photos but y'all forgot about those blurry lunch pics from LA last month? Now he's meeting grandpa? Sir moved from 'hello' to 'crawfish boil' in like 60 days 💀"

@PopCultureFM "Timeline investigators been working: Feb 5: Fallon appearance (awkward chemistry) April: Suspicious LA sighting with blonde Yesterday: Airport photos from NOLA

@SportsGossipGuru

BREAKING: Local sources claim a figure matching Joe Burrow’s description was spotted —

📍Louis Armstrong Airport (Friday)

🏃‍♂️Running through what’s speculated to be Riley Carter’s neighborhood (Saturday AM)

👴Later that morning? At an assisted living facility… allegedly picking up her grandfather 👀

Not confirming anything… but this is not nothing.

@softlaunchdetective:

Their inner circles are FORTRESSES. not a single leak? not even a back-of-head selfie? imagine being friends with them and not even dropping a “look who’s at brunch 😏” story. stronger than the Marines.

@notmyquarterback:

If Riley Carter and Joe Burrow really been dating since February, I just wanna say: whoever’s keeping their secrets, I trust you with my life.

@swampgirlie:

They got a whole relationship arc with no paparazzi trail. Just vibes, blurry airport pics, and anonymous DMs. What is this, a Netflix limited series??

@NFLDetectiveSociety:

 "Megan posting: ✅ Uncle Ray's karaoke ✅ Aunt Delia's potato salad ✅ Riley making faces at camera ✅ Empty chair next to Riley ❌ The 6'4" QB everyone says was there This family said 'crop mode activated' 💀"

@SocialSleuthing:

 "Riley's cousins posting the whole crawfish boil but not ONE voice that sounds like a 6'4" Cincinnati QB? Y'all recording at the EXACT moments he's not speaking?? ����🤔🤔"

@NFLGossip_Tea:

"The camera work in Megan's stories today:

"Megan posting: ✅ Uncle Ray's karaoke ✅ Aunt Delia's potato salad ✅ Riley making faces at camera ✅ Empty chair next to Riley ❌ The 6'4" QB everyone says was there This family said 'crop mode activated' 💀"

@SocialSleuthing:

"Riley's cousins posting the whole crawfish boil but not ONE voice that sounds like a 6'4" Cincinnati QB? Y'all recording at the EXACT moments he's not speaking?? 🤔🤔🤔"

@NFLGossip_Tea:

"The camera work in Megan's stories today:

Pans left: Uncle playing spoons ✅

Pans right: Riley dancing ✅

Pans center: [REDACTED] ❌

Audio: Everyone's voice except apparently Joe's 👻"

[myauditionfordrphil]

Dude people acting like Pakistan is Palestine and India is Israel is just pissing me off. "India is killing innocent civilians!" And when Pakistani terrorists kill Indian civilians it's crickets. When Pakistan tries to bomb densely populated Indian cities it's crickets. But India retaliating is "genocide" apparently. And Pakistan funding terrorists with tax money from civilians while so many people live in crippling poverty isn't genocide? Just because Islamophobia exists doesn't mean religious extremists who kill innocent people are in the right. Istg they were trying to blame their failure of their own people on others and this situation has given them a golden opportunity to get sympathy from the other Muslim countries and paint India as their villain.

So trueee like having the audacity to compare India's actions to the inhumane, unspeakable atrocities that Israel has commited is preposterous. The double standards are really getting to me now. Some really popular pages whose content is based upon Palestine and raising awareness are supporting Pakistan (and before anyone even gets the idea that I am against pro-Palestinian content, check my page for once, I will advocate for a free Palestine till the end of my life) because innocents are dying - and as much sympathy I have for any innocent dying on either side of the border - where were all these concerns when Indian citizens were dying in a similar way? Are their lives not as valuable? But then it's the India's fault because apparently these people are dying because of the actions of the country completely ignoring the fact that the very reason terrorism has reached such a peak is the corruption and extremism in the Pakistani military and the incapability of the government. Their people are suffering because their leaders have decided to make their land a breeding ground for terrorism, because their leaders decided to be the lapdog of big world governments and do their dirty work. As for trying to paint Pakistan as a victim to get support from Islamic states, I'll be very honest, I have no belief in these Islamic states. They never stood up for Palestine, they never helped Syria, or Lebanon, or Sudan, or Congo and god knows how many Muslim countries - hell Saudi is itself bombing Yemen. They are a bunch of spineless cowards who can only speak false sugar coated words. Religion has been twisted by man, it has been turned into a source of politics, of manipulation, of spreading communal hate. These terrorists who claim to operate in the name of Islam can be anything but a Muslim because I - and a million other Muslims who actively practice Islam and have deep rooted faith in our religion - have clearly been following a different religion than them. We haven't read the same Quran (with both linguistic and social context not only translation) or follow the same moral values that our teaches teaches us. I am a Muslim and I have faced islamophobia more times than I can count. Living in India - especially in recent years - as a muslim is not easy, Islamophobia is very prevalent and if you raise your voice against it you're suddenly anti-national, an invader and have to listen to "agar itni hi problem hai toh yaha pe reh hi kyu rahe ho, go to Pakistan" - just because you condemn the very obvious prejudice and discrimination. It's not easy having to constantly give the proof of your loyalty and love to your country, to have your patriotism be questioned at every step, to be viewed either as a Muslim or as an Indian but never both. But no amount of suffering validates wishing the same atrocities on someone else. It is the same thing as saying that the genocide that Israel is committing is justified because jews faced antisemitism and the holocaust. I have been advocating for peace since day one, wanting the war to be stopped. But that step cannot be taken by one side. You cannot expect India to remain silent when Pakistan continues to instigate violence. War has never bought any good to anyone. It only brings destruction, it is never the answer. Only those who don't face the adversity of war wishes for one to be started. And it's about time that Pakistan realizes this.

[yup-thats-me]

—Beloved Goddess • C. San

༊pairing; Husband!San x wife!reader ༊summary; San doesn't care what anyone thinks. It's his life mission to keep his Goddess happy.༊warnings; none.

Rich husband!San who is often mistaken for your sugar daddy when he shows up at your workplace with hands full with a massive bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"Y/n," your co-worker would call out, worry clearly written in her face. "Your sugar daddy is here...?"

You have to blink a few times, brows furring. Sugar daddy? You were already married. Is the ten carat diamond on your ring-finger doesn't scream that? Looking to where she is pointing, you almost roll on the floor in laughter.

"That man—" She tries to speak in between laughs. "He's my husband!"

And when you leap into San's arms with all your weight, your coworkers stand to the side, admiring the view.

"Why are you here, my love?"

San would pout. "Can I not see my goddess whenever I want to?" He'd say as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Oh god," Y/n would smack his arms. "You're so dramatic." But she couldn't help the warmth that surged within her chest.

Rich husband!San who would pick you up right in front of your workplace with people staring and place you gently inside the car. "San? What are you doing?" Y/n would ask confused. She was still at work and neither was today announced a holiday for any reason.

"Don't wprry, sweetheart."

As if on cue, a message from your boss lit up your phone. "Take the day off."

It figures.

Rich husband!San who takes you on random shopping sprees just because.

"But we went shopping just last week?"

"I cannot let my Goddess reap an outfit. I have a reputation to keep, darling."

And when the couple enters a high-end shop, the entire building is cleared out, acting as Y/n's personal boutique.

An attendant takes of Y/n coat as another offers the two a glass of champagne. "Begin, my love," San would say with a smug smile.

Begin your shopping, it meant.

From then on, anything that your divine fingertips touch is yours, no questions asked. Be it a simple outer robe or a keychain; Its yours now.

While you walked around the store with attendants whisking away those products, San sat on the plush couch, sipping his drink as he watched you shop to your heart's content.

When about two hours later, you sit beside the man all spent, San pulls you close, stroking your hair lovingly.

"All done, my love?" And when she'd nod lazily, San will whisk her away in his strong arms. And not to worry about the clothes, they'll already be delivered to their penthouse by the time they reached their house. And of course, they are already paid for.

Rich husband!San who is frequently asked if he is so rich, why does Y/n work a regular job? And San would answer without fail. "Because she wants to be independent, of course," He'd say matter-of-factly, as if that's the only reason there should be.

"She wants to work. What more reason should there be. and when she doesn't want to anymore," He'd say as he pushed his glasses back. "I believe i can provide for the two of for a minimum of sixty years to come."

Y/n sometimes would say to her husband. "The way you spend on me, people are right to think you're my fucking sugar daddy, San."

San would laugh, caressing her hair as she laid on his toned chest. "I can be whatever my Goddess wants me to be."

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. all rights belongs to yup-thats-me™ on tumblr

reqs are openᝰ.ᐟ;༊

[accidentcache]

33 from the drabble list - any character you want!

prompt list | 33.) "This isn't about revenge."

tomura was used to having blood on his hands. as a villain and viewed as the symbol of fear to most of japan; a little bit of red underneath his fingertips had never truly bothered him.

until he had him cornered in one of the base's interrogation rooms. it had taken months for tomura to track down the individual responsible for your death. first jumping through loopholes, chasing down leads that led to the wrong person and plenty piles of ash when it wasn't the person he needed.

there were only a few people who could stomach being in the same room at this point in time. others had lost track of how many blows tomura had landed already and at this point, the sound of bone against bone was getting more sickening by the second. this was getting drawn out.

some of the main crew stuck around. aside from toga and twice, the rest of the original league hung to the corners and edges of the room. compress held a hand to his mouth-- probably to cover his growing concerned expression. dabi's arms were crossed, spinner couldn't decide what he wanted to do with his hands so they stayed clenched against his hips.

"tomura," one of them spoke up finally. their voice was lost in the midst of another heavy landing blow. blood was starting to pool onto the floor. some had splattered onto the wall. "i think that's enough."

tomura doesn't respond. he's running on autopilot, a gut driven instinct to defend his actions. to take a life for the one that was taken from him.

"is this how you took her down?" tomura doesn't recognize his own voice. he seethes as he grabs the knotted hair of the beaten man, yanking at his scalp enough to make him wince and cry out pathetically. the guy doesn't even have the strength to fight back anymore. "did she fight back? did you let her fight back?"

"boss," dabi speaks up now, his voice tight though he will deny it if someone decides to bring it up. "you've made your point."

"shut up," tomura snaps, his head whipping in the general direction of dabi's voice. feral eyes meet dark and tense blue ones and dabi involuntarily stiffens at the glare.

"i think you've gotten your revenge now," spinner voices next-- a vain attempt of appeasement. neither of the three of them move towards tomura to pull him away.

"this isn't about revenge," tomura grits through clenched teeth. his vision is almost blurry as it fixates on the body below him, the puddle starting to grow in size as tomura forces more pressure and weight into wounds. in the reflection, he swears he sees your face. it only causes him to send the bastards broken nose into pavement even harder this time.

compress, spinner and dabi all look away. while all of them felt the same amount of hatred towards this guy-- you were apart of their family, and no one gets away with harming family on their watch-- tomura's brutality was something entirely different.

because tomura was right, this wasn't about revenge. for him, anyways. in some fucked up way this was his form of grieving, his way of payment-- his own form of forcing karma. he was angry. seething-- months spent trying to find the man responsible for your death.

do people normally feel guilt when seeking out revenge? if so, this was further proof that it isn't the case for tomura. if he couldn't get you back, he'd make damn sure to make the bastard responsible pay tenfold.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[gakukitty]

Gaku with a reader who was introduced by slur, he stared at them uninterested, but after he introduced them to the org, both gaku and reader locked in the bathroom and started sloppily making out 💀

MADE FOR U — ★ !

featuring . . . gaku <3

i loved this idea so much…. im sorry guys if i didn’t do it any justice 💔💔 i had so many different ways i wanted to write it but here is the final product.. ! !

at first, when slur first introduced you— gaku didn’t care. the man just stared blankly. to him, you were just some random new recruit who happened to have a pretty face, nobody to be too focused on.

until he realised you were sort of becoming pretty valuable to the group. even then, gaku didn’t bother to acknowledge you much, save for the rather awkward greetings he’d offer you when you’re with kumanomi. he has to admit, you look nice. like, really nice. but it’s not like the two of you are close enough to exchange words like that…

…so gaku is very confused when you stumble into the bathroom he was in, casually searching for a spider he heard someone squealing about.

“kill it!!” kumanomi would shout, already slamming the door snd making her escape. you never really took her as the type to be scared of— wait.

you turn around hesitantly, your gaze meeting with gaku’s. and suddenly you really wish you never joined thid strange group— because the one person who seems to have something against you is right freaking there.

and the worst part is… he looks SO good.

and honestly, gaku thinks you look pretty good at the moment, too.

so, surely it’s only natural that you both inch closer to each other— the spider momentarily forgotten as his warm hands find your hips. then, before either of you can help yourselves— his lips are on yours, tongue slipping in occasionally. gaku doesn’t bother being quiet, letting subtle moans and groans spill out freely. he tilts his head, the kiss deepening.

your hands lift, eventually finding their place on gaku’s chest. the feeling has him moaning, shifting to press you against the counter. he’s not gentle, nor organised— gaku does what feels right in the moment. he’s not shy, either. definitely not. his hands fidget with the hem of your shirt as he pulls away, half-lidded gaze meeting yours. he has to wonder; why did he go so long without doing this? he leans in again, lips slotting against yours so well. it’s sort of like the two of you were made for this— made for each other.

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or use it to train ai ♡

[caffedrine]

Keith Howell Sequel 13 Dramatic Route - Fan Translation

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this fan translation, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

The Tragedy of Jade, the Prince Who Lost His Beloved Fiancée

Unable to eat, barely able to sleep, and living like a corpse with dark circles under his eyes — such rumors spread throughout all of Kougyoku.

The Amagase family, upon hearing these rumors, acted swiftly.

Shiou: "Isn't there something I can do?"

Keith: "......If so, there is one thing."

Keith: "There is something I would like to ask of you, Prince Shiou."

The prince in the middle of it all was exactly as the rumors described — completely exhausted, his face pale as if he might follow after his fiancée at any moment.

However, though his eyes were vacant, they had not entirely lost their light. Even in his hollow gaze, a certain strength still remained.

Keith: "Jade does not intend to make a big fuss over this matter."

Keith: "From now on as well, he will continue to support all factions equally... and maintain a neutral stance."

Keith: "That is why I would like to avoid stirring up any further commotion."

Shiou: "......I'm surprised. Aren’t you often called a saintly man?"

Keith: "Emma often said I was 'kind.'"

Shiou: "Well said. Even in this situation, you choose to be kind?"

Keith: "That's not exactly the case."

Keith: "I am seething inside about the one who disgraced Emma, and I will never forgive them for the rest of my life."

Keith: "However... the culprit behind harming Emma likely had another goal in mind."

Keith: "Most likely, they wanted to sever Jade’s support for the Kuga faction."

The tense atmosphere wavered slightly.

Shiou: "May I hear more details?"

Keith: "According to Kagari-san, it was a form of treason."

Keith: "The easiest way to strike a blow to the Kuga faction would be to make Jade withdraw his support."

Keith: "That's exactly why I don’t want to play into the hands of those who harmed Emma."

Shiou: "I see... That’s not only logical but also true."

Shiou: "Even while shaking with rage, you reached that conclusion. I respect you for that."

Dry applause echoed a few times, but Keith’s expression didn’t change at all.

Shiou: "Still, we cannot say Kuga is completely blameless."

Shiou: "The protection of important guests is the highest priority in a nation plagued by internal strife."

Shiou: "If you're inviting dignitaries from abroad, there must not be any security lapses."

Shiou: "Keith, you seem forgiving, but I think this response is a bit too lenient."

Keith: "Do you really think so?"

The more they spoke, the more color returned to Keith’s lifeless face.

From a prince who lost his beloved fiancée, he began to regain his presence as a prince who carries the nation on his shoulders.

Keith: "If you think this response is lenient, Prince Shiou, then perhaps you are misunderstanding me."

Keith: "Jade's 'neutrality' is neither an act of mercy nor charity."

Keith: "It is merely part of trade diplomacy rooted in national interests."

Keith: "By maintaining neutrality, our nation has balanced relations with the other countries on the continent and secured a stable position."

Keith: "However, if we abandon that neutrality towards Kogyoku because of this incident..."

Keith: "It will send the message — to other countries as well — that 'Jade's neutrality is not absolute.' This will harm our trust and reputation."

Shiou: "….."

Keith: "It is my responsibility and duty as royalty to act in the nation’s best interest."

Keith: "No matter what happens, I cannot afford to neglect this duty."

Keith: "Besides, I doubt Emma would want to see me abandon national interests just to seek revenge."

Keith: "She believed I was 'not a failure'... I will never betray her trust, no matter what."

Every word he spoke burned with emotion, and together they built up into a blazing will.

No amount of water would be able to extinguish that flame. Faced with such resolve, Shiou's gentle smile faltered.

Shiou: "I apologize. You're right — your thinking is anything but 'soft.' "

Shiou: "In fact, I was the one being naïve."

Keith: "No, I understand you were thinking of me."

Keith: "You’ve always cared about us..."

Keith: "That's why I trust you'll understand this decision as well."

Shiou: "......Thank you. It seems I was worrying too much."

Shiou: "I respect your resolve. But I too have duties and responsibilities."

Shiou: "It would be ideal if the culprit already caught was the mastermind behind all of this... but if not —"

Shiou: "Then I will do everything in my power to ensure Jade’s trust is not further damaged."

Shiou: "Even if that means going to war with Kuga."

Keith: "....."

Shiou: "Well, I’ve taken up enough of your valuable time. I should take my leave."

Shiou: "The King Kuga and Kagari don’t exactly welcome my presence here."

Shiou: "Someday... when the war is over, I hope daily life with Kagari can return."

Turning his back, Shiou began walking away, accompanied by fluttering cherry blossom petals drifting in from outside.

The Kuga servant who opened the door glanced briefly at Keith before leading the guest — who came from enemy lands — away.

Shiou: "Oh, if it isn’t Kagari."

Kagari: "....."

The two brothers passed each other in the hallway, both stopping as they recognized the other. Shiou smiled affably, while Kagari's expression remained unmoved. That friendly smile carried a hint of bitterness.

Shiou: "You’re as cold as ever."

Kagari: "And you haven’t changed either."

Shiou: "I know I’m not welcome, but it’s nice to see your face again after so long."

Kagari: "...."

Shiou: "Did the King of Kuga tell you to hurry up and kick me out?"

Kagari: "Yeah."

Shiou: "You could at least try to hide it a little."

Kagari: "You should know why."

Kagari: "It is our duty to protect our guests."

Kagari: "You went too far this time."

Shiou: "Too far...? Whatever do you mean?"

Kagari: "That’s a warning."

Kagari: "You want to keep your head attached, don’t you?"

Shiou: "...Haha, scary. If the Yasha of Kougyoku has set his sights on me, even I wouldn’t stand a chance."

Kagari: "......"

Shiou: "Alright, alright. No need to glare like that — I won’t do anything."

Shiou: "I promise."

He resumed walking and passed by Kagari. There was no sign that the "Yasha," who had just issued a grim warning, intended to pursue him. As he neared the castle exit, Shiou stopped once more and glanced out the window into the garden.

The servant, one eye hidden by hair, also stopped in place.

Servant: "Is something wrong?"

Shiou: "That detached room over there... looks like a perfect place to play hide and seek."

Servant: "...Shall we go there?"

Shiou: "No, just talking to myself."

Shiou: "Still, I’m relieved. It was worth coming here."

Shiou: "Kagari looks well, and Keith too. Judging by that, maybe even Lady Emma is doing well too.'"

Servant: "............"

Shiou: "Just joking, of course."

Shiou: "I don't like ghosts, you know. How about you? Are you sensitive to spirits?"

Servant: "No. I’ve never seen the shadow of the dead."

Shiou: "You’ve lived a blessed life, then."

Servant: "......Please rest assured. There are no ghosts in this world."

Servant: "The dead have no place in the realm of the living."

Shiou: "True enough."

Shiou: "I too hope I never meet a ghost for the rest of my life."

That night — after the visit of a major figure from the enemy faction left the castle unsettled — peace finally returned.

However, it was still too early for the castle to truly fall asleep.

A shadowy figure moved silently through the garden, heading towards the detached room of the main castle. Gliding over the neatly trimmed grass without a sound, the figure held its breath as it approached the building.

The detached room, which was usually treated like a storage shed and rarely used, was dark as always — no lights at all.

Blending into the darkness, the figure placed a hand on the sheath of their sword, ready for anything that might emerge. With a cautious, steady movement, they slid open the door.

The room was empty.

No figure lay on the futon spread out on the tatami floor.

But the slight disorder of the bedding made it clear — someone had been there just moments ago. Raising their head, the intruder spotted a woman standing in the blind spot of the room. At that very instant, an arrow struck the floor right at their feet, forcing them to leap back.

Trembling slightly, the woman held her bow tightly, glaring fiercely at the intruder in the dead of night.

Emma: "The next shot... will hit."

(Stay calm... stay calm, Emma.)

(I knew they’d come eventually, but I didn’t expect them to find me so soon...)

The man who had visited the detached room Kagari had prepared for her looked like an ordinary servant of Kuga Castle at first glance.

A man who hid one eye behind his hair — she had passed him in the halls several times before.

But right now, she had no choice but to aim her arrow at him because of the unmistakable hostility he radiated.

While it wasn’t quite as intense as the bloodlust Prince Kagari had once unleashed, It was enough to make her skin prickle and her throat tighten with the sense of imminent danger.

Without a word, the man dressed as a servant drew his sword.

(He’s here to kill me.)

(Keith’s prediction was right after all...)

He showed no interest in small talk and instead lunged forward, closing the distance between them with swift steps.

(Which option do I choose…?)

Keith!

Prince Kagari!

Fine then — let’s do this!

Emma: "Keith!"

The moment she shouted as loudly as she could, Keith leapt from the shadows, sword drawn, cutting between her and the attacker.

Keith: "Emma, get back!"

(Thank goodness... We’d planned for this in advance, but I still wasn’t sure he’d really be here...)

Retreating to the corner of the room, Emma moved to a spot where she could flee at any time. The assassin showed no signs of surprise, as though he had anticipated Keith's presence.

Steel clashed in rapid succession, white sparks flying each time their blades met, tearing through the silence of the night.

The man narrowly dodged Keith’s attacks, leaving sharp gashes in nearby furniture,

While Keith skillfully evaded the man’s strikes, slicing a clean line through the shoji screen.

Unable to do anything but grip her bow and watch, Emma felt frustrated but knew the fight was too swift for her to intervene.

(As expected of an assassin from Kogyoku... he’s highly skilled.)

Each time the dry clang of steel echoed, her heart pounded in response.

But Keith, fighting on equal ground with this assassin — the Yasha of Kogyoku — was not one to be overwhelmed.

Gradually, the tide began to turn in Keith's favor.

The assassin must have realized it too — a brief moment of panic opened up a gap.

Keith did not miss it.

(Ah...!)

With a heavy strike, Keith drove the man backwards, smashing him through the shoji and out into the garden.

Without hesitation, Keith followed and stomped mercilessly on the assassin, who had fallen flat on his back.

Whether the blow had hit a vital spot or not, the man groaned in pain and showed no sign of being able to move his limbs.

The sword that flew from the assassin's hand landed blade-first in the ground — the battle was over.

But even so, Keith raised his sword high again.

(Wait… what is he—)

Before I could even stop him, he swung it down — yet, just as suddenly, his motion froze unnaturally mid-swing.

Holding his breath, Keith drove the blade into the ground, right beside the assassin’s face.

It looked as if something had stopped him at the last possible moment.

Keith: "...."

Even from where I stood, I could feel the tremble in his breath.

There was no kindness in his golden eyes — only fierce, burning emotion.

(…He seemed calm, but that’s not it at all...)

(Keith is furious.)

His hand on the sword trembled, as though fighting against something deep inside.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say — desperately searching for words that might cool the raging flames inside him.

And then — the bushes rustled.

Emma: "Keith, behind you…!"

The moment I shouted, Keith grabbed the assassin by the collar and hurled him backward in a powerful arc.

From the bushes emerged another assassin, who was caught completely off guard by the flying body. Both assassins crashed to the ground with a violent thud, the earth groaning under the impact.

Before they could recover, the second assassin was pinned down again —

Prince Kagari had appeared from the darkness, calmly stomping down on the assassin’s head.

Kagari: "Alive, huh? Impressive. I thought for sure you'd kill him."

Keith: "I wouldn’t do something so reckless in front of Emma."

Keith retrieved his sword from the ground and returned it to its sheath.

Kagari: "And if she hadn’t been here?"

Keith: "......"

Kagari: "That honesty is one of your virtues."

(...Is it over?)

I hurried out into the garden and saw the assassin squirming under Prince Kagari’s foot.

He fumbled with something from his pocket — a small vial.

Before I could even cry out, Keith stepped forward and crushed it underfoot.

At the same time, Prince Kagari delivered a sharp blow to the back of the assassin’s neck, silencing him completely.

Emma: "…Poison...?"

Keith: "Probably. No doubt it was meant for suicide."

Kagari: "Well-trained."

Keith: "Think we can get anything out of them?"

Kagari: "I'll try what I can."

Kagari: "But even if we do, it won’t prove he’s the mastermind."

Keith: "I know. Information alone isn’t evidence."

Keith: "At best, we’ll learn whether or not Jade’s faction was involved."

Kagari: "Is that enough for you?"

Keith: "Yeah. That’s plenty. Thank you, Kagari."

Keith: "...Though the mastermind is already obvious."

Kagari: "This time... it's a draw."

Kagari: "They failed to accomplish their goal, but we couldn't completely corner them either."

(Even if we couldn’t corner them, we did strike back...)

(...So this should settle things, at least for now.)

Kagari: "Still, your performance was quite something."

Keith: "Compared to Emma’s acting at that critical moment, I was terrible."

(But... why does Keith still look so downcast?)

(Everything should have been resolved... shouldn’t it?)

Keith Howell Normal Story: "Because It's You, I Love You So Deeply"

~Flashback~

The day of that violent storm — when uncertainty and fear consumed Keith — our story continued quietly.

Keith: "Emma’s safety is my top priority."

Keith: "Emma, come back with me. Let’s go home."

Putting aside the mystery behind the attacks and the strange happenings with the doll, he intended to return to Jade with me, leaving everything else unresolved.

It was a decision that showed just how much Keith valued my well-being above all else.

(Even so... would simply leaving Kougyoku really solve everything?)

(Still — if leaving means Keith won't have to suffer anymore, then I want that too.)

(...But even so...)

Emma: "Is that... truly how you feel, Keith?"

Keith: "Eh…?"

(I’ve been with Keith long enough. I know when something doesn’t ring true.)

Emma: "That’s not your real intention, is it?"

As I asked with certainty, Keith — who was sitting beside me on the bed — clearly averted his gaze.

(I knew it.)

Emma: "There’s no way the kind Keith I know would simply let those who tried to hurt me go free."

Emma: "You were planning to send me back to Jade, and then undertake some secret diplomatic mission, weren’t you?"

Keith: "…That’s..."

Emma: "You can’t fool me."

I stood up and stepped right in front of him.

Placing both hands on his face, I forced him to meet my eyes. His gentle expression twisted slightly into a bitter smile.

Keith: "You’ve got me... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep anything from you."

Emma: "That’s exactly right. In fact, shall I guess one more thing you’re thinking?"

Emma: "You don’t believe Prince Shiou’s words, do you?"

Keith: "Why do you think that?"

Emma: "You said it yourself earlier."

Keith: "You mean... about how that doll of you felt like some kind of warning."

Emma: "Exactly... A warning of what, I wonder?"

Keith: "That is..."

Keith: "No... it’s not good to speak based on assumptions."

Emma: "But if the culprits really are the remnants of the royal faction, just as Prince Shiou said..."

Emma: "Doesn’t the order of events seem strange to you?"

Keith: "Order?"

Emma: "Normally, warnings come before someone takes action."

Emma: "But in our case, we were already attacked once."

Emma: "Would people capable of such a sudden assault really bother to kindly send us a warning later?"

Keith: "..................................They wouldn’t."

Emma: "That’s what has been bothering you too, isn’t it, Keith?"

Emma: "So then, who sent that warning, and what was it really about…?"

(When I first heard Keith talk about it, only one person came to mind.)

Emma: "It felt like an unspoken message — 'Do as I say.'"

Keith’s clear eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a soft, almost amused laugh.

Keith: "You truly are an astute woman… more than I deserve."

Emma: "I try my best every day to keep up with you, Keith."

(It looks like Keith has reached the same conclusion as I have.)

Emma: "The mastermind is Prince Shiou… isn’t it?"

Keith: "Most likely."

(Prince Shiou had been attacked right along with us... but if that was all an act...)

(By being attacked together, he would gain the right to judge the real culprits.)

(And by hiding the true identity of the attackers from us, everything fits neatly together.)

Keith: "His words were consistently aimed at fostering suspicion towards the Kuga faction."

Keith: "His goal was likely to sever our ties with Jade."

Keith: "At the same time, Prince Shiou isn’t making too much effort to perfectly conceal himself as the mastermind."

Keith: "He’s careful not to leave evidence, but he’s subtly guiding us to understand only what he wants us to know."

Emma: "And if we defy Prince Shiou and continue interacting with the Kuga faction...?"

Keith: "The next attack might be even more severe."

Emma: "...How cowardly."

Keith: "I think so too."

Keith: "But just like Prince Shiou’s ridiculous story, our theory lacks any real proof."

(Even though we know who’s behind it... it’s frustrating that we can’t do anything about the one who hurt Keith.)

(Even if we can’t catch them… is there no way to strike back somehow?)

(I refuse to forgive someone who forced Keith into such pain and such a decision.)

(If they think they can control us so easily… they’re sorely mistaken.)

Emma: "Even if we can’t prove it..."

Emma: "We can at least make it clear — we won’t give in to threats."

Keith: "…Emma?"

(I do have an idea...)

(If Prince Shiou deceived us with an act, then we can respond in kind — with a little act of our own.)

Emma: "I’m sure you’ll object to this, Keith, but… will you listen to what I have to say?"

~End Flashback~

By the time we left Kougyoku and returned to Jade, the intensity of that day felt like a distant memory.

(It’s been so long since I’ve been able to relax and enjoy tea at night with Keith like this.)

As I sat on the sofa sipping tea and set my cup down on the side table, a soft yawn escaped me without thinking.

Embarrassed, I quickly covered my mouth, but Keith, sitting beside me, gently placed his hand on my shoulder.

He pulled me close, and my head naturally came to rest on his broad shoulder.

His warmth, like basking in sunlight, melted away all my tension and left my face loose and content.

Keith: "Sleepy?"

Emma: "No... I just finally let my guard down. Anything could’ve happened on the way back, after all."

(In the end, though, we made it back without incident...)

I leaned against him, letting myself be spoiled, as his hand stroked my hair softly.

Emma: "I hope I don’t get treated like a ghost next time we visit Kougyoku."

Keith: "You won’t. I made sure to tell Kagari."

Keith: "I asked him to spread the word that Jade’s fiancée is alive, and that the rumors of your death were false."

Emma: "Fufu... I should thank Prince Kagari when I see him next."

Keith: "Maybe I should find some dorayaki from Jade for him. I think he’d like that."

Our conversation and casual gestures — all so normal — had finally returned to what we used to call everyday life.

Yet, it wasn’t completely the same.

Since leaving Kougyoku, there had been moments when Keith’s face was clouded with sadness.

Noticing that faint shadow now, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tightly.

(I can guess a few reasons why.)

(...Though I don’t know exactly which one weighs on him most...)

As I clung to him, he seemed to sense my worries and pulled me into his arms as well.

Keith: "…You’re so warm, Emma."

Keith: "You’re not cold at all... and your heartbeat is steady."

Keith: "But that time... when you started acting at the port, you felt so cold to me."

Keith: "Even though I knew the blood was fake, it looked so real..."

Keith: "It forced me to imagine your death — vividly and painfully."

Feeling the strength in his embrace, I understood just how deeply my performance had affected him.

(...I really put him through a lot, didn’t I...)

(His anguish back then didn’t feel like acting at all.)

He hadn’t been able to eat properly, and sleep had eluded him.

Behind his fierce performance was the terrifying thought — what if I had actually died?

Emma: "Keith, you were against my plan until the very end, weren’t you?"

Emma: "It was dangerous, and even if it was only acting... you didn’t want me to pretend to die."

Emma: "But despite all that, you respected my decision in the end..."

Emma: "I’m sorry for pushing through with it anyway."

Keith: "Please, don’t apologize! If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing."

Keith: "I couldn’t come up with any better plan than the one you proposed."

Keith: "If it had been just me, I probably would have returned to Jade without accomplishing anything."

Keith: "I wouldn’t have found the insider, nor could I have proven that the rumors about Jade's involvementwere false."

Keith: "Even now, I keep telling myself that meeting you made me not a failure... not a failure..."

Keith: "But it looks like I’m still the same as ever."

Emma: "…Prince Kagari said something similar too..."

Emma: "Keith, sometimes your humility just makes no sense."

(All I did was come up with the idea to fake my death and draw Prince Shiou out...)

(It was Keith who worked out all the fine details, planned for Prince Shiou noticing the ruse, and protected me from the assassins.)

(Everything went so well because of him... and yet he's blaming himself?)

Seeing Keith look so gloomy, I pushed him down onto the sofa.

Keith: "W-Whoa, Emma?"

He looked surprised as I straddled him, though his hands instinctively reached out to steady me so I wouldn’t fall.

Emma: "The fact that I’m here, alive, without so much as a scratch..."

Emma: "It’s all because you risked everything to protect me."

Emma: "Thank you so much, Keith."

Emma: "To me, Keith is..."

Emma: "The most reliable, wonderful, and handsome fiancé I could ever ask for."

Keith: "...."

Keith: "...Is that so."

Emma: "Eh?"

Keith: "Ah..."

His golden eyes shimmered, then a tear slipped down his cheek, vanishing into the fabric of the sofa.

Our eyes met in mutual surprise.

(W-wait... why is he crying...!)

Keith: "S-sorry! That’s not it!"

Keith: "I just... I got so carried away, and when you said that, I suddenly felt like I could let go..."

Keith: "I’m just... so relieved that nothing happened to you."

Keith: "And to know... that even after the mistakes I’ve made... you still love me..."

Keith: "...You even said I was cool, and now here I am, acting like this..."

His voice faded to a whisper toward the end.

(…)

Emma: "Keith... may I kiss you?"

Keith: "Eh? Ah... go ahead…?"

(Keith... I’m sorry.)

(...I won’t say it out loud — because if I apologize, Keith will just worry even more...)

(But still... I’m so sorry for causing you so much pain... and thank you, truly...)

I softly kissed the corner of his eye, as though to heal his wounded heart.

(My existence has the power to make Keith both happy... and deeply unhappy.)

(Realizing that again now — that undeniable truth...)

(I will never let him go.)

[skrunksthatwunk]

HIS BOOBS???

[maraschinotopped]

ive been staring at the naqtube channel page just doing analysis thoughts in my head for like 15 minutes and ive just been hit with the realization that Damn this is not normal. normal people dont do this. either the mental illness or the mild sickness is doing something to me right now.

[hauntingblue]

The king and queen are visiting Paiporta and they receive them with mud xd two men have spoken to the king and told him to do something, but we all know that he is going to go to his palace and cross his arms because It's literally the only thing he can do. Is this what had to happen for people to realize that asking the king for help is nonsense? He has no power, he is only there to parade around. They have kicked out volunteers from the site to let the king and his escorts (police and military) pass, which is the first time they have touched that ground and they are going to do NOTHING. The president is doing the same. The president of Valencia is doing the same.

[archersgoon]

being trans in charyn must be a fucking nightmare. imagine arjuro doing your bottom surgery. collegiati assisting. good god. like im sure the man's a good surgeon but his bedside manner...

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

[catboy-jupiter]

i'll be like "i'm a god of writing" and then an hour passes after i post or submit something and i'll be like "i'm so dumb there's so much i could've done better if only i'd waited a bit and looked at it with fresh eyes i would've noticed how much it sucks & what i could've improved that looks so much like first draft material there's so many revisions i could make why i am i so impulsive and overconfident" and then i'll start writing something else and be like "i'm a god of writing" again

[fortune-maiden]

I've always liked this line of dialogue from SQX, because it does feel like at the end of the day, no matter how much SQX says he can't stand PM, he does still have a decent grasp of his character.

And on the other side of this, these words are just especially pointed towards Pei Xiu, who does have a good relationship with his boss/ancestor, and also going off his backstory, Pei Ming may well have been the first person in his life to acknowledge him and his talents.

So the whole thing just feels extra sad.

[kalosian-woods]

I know I already sent one but. The Bonds of Mega Evolution. The flower arranging scene but from Serena’s perspective. I beg of you. Her thoughts on being praised over Ash and Korrina who are everything she admires. Mabel’s analyses. I have so many thoughts -W-

(ps I had to do this one because my mind would not let go even through my busy day, but dw i'm still filling out the other asks + extra dw because i love this one and i can go for maybe 1 more extras from others as well if yall want... might just take a while lol but i'd rather pace myself with these and build up my writing rather than rush)

The flowerfields of Pomice Mountain were so incredibly pretty it was almost unreal in its ethereality, like a delicate watercolour painting set up in the most protected portion of Lumiose Museum and protected from human hands.

Serena looked behind her, noting the… very long distance that they made on their own legs. Well, that she made on two legs, considering how Fennekin was still a little finnicky about tracking mud sometimes. Letting the fox down, she crouched on the tip of her toes and smiled as she watched her partner frolic in the flowers. “I'm glad you like it, Fennekin!”

Coming up here was a good choice. No doubt that the likes of Ash and Korrina would travel far, but not even they would come all the way up here for a few flowers. And if Serena really wanted to impress Mabel, she had to make sure that her bouquet was as unique as can be!

Fennekin yipped at her after coming back from her moment of exploration, tail wagging happily. A small giggle came out of Serena’s mouth then as she picked out a few petals that stuck to the Pokemon’s ear. “Found something you like?”

“Fenne!” It didn’t hurt that she had Fennekin by her side. That fox was a master at ordering things, and Serena started to defer most organising details (that are doable by Pokemon) to her fuzzy little friend. It was fun and nice and such a big help to have Fennekin go through the Pokepuff ingredients, especially now as there were more tastes to account for (and more bellies to fill); just as much as there was the need to track down lost clothing blown off the clothing line or what flowers to use for their flower crowns. Fennekin started to trot forward, mouth split in a wide and toothy grin as she rounded the small hill with Serena at her heels.

Serena kept pace, letting her gaze rove over the magnificent landscape. She couldn’t believe all of her friends would want to leave this place as soon as possible: it was almost an insult to the natural beauty blooming all around them. Sure, they were here to help Korrina and Lucario master Mega Evolution, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t relax and have some fun on the way.

Nothing was a waste of time, including now.

And breathing in the fresh mountain air, Serena couldn’t imagine it to be any other way.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·. 

There was a certain type of aura that can be sensed when it comes to ikebana.

With the bright and showy demonstrations, Mabel can already see the youth that shone brightly in all of her new wards—even the scientific young lad had that spark of childishness that was separate to what his Chespin had. Moving across the room, she shook her head; it didn’t matter if they nailed the technique for flower-arranging as it was.

Even though she was expecting Gurkinn’s granddaughter Mabel had opened her door to all of Korrina’s friends, and so, she would judge them all equally.

“Haha, d’you like it? I tried my best with Pikachu, but then a Ursaring came outta nowhere and started chasing me for picking some of—”

Ash was a spirited fellow, for certain. Some may say that danger followed him, as she had heard from the group’s late-night talks, but Mable thought differently. Was it relevant to his bond with his partner Pokemon? If it were Pikachu, certainly not—their joint work showed a sort of oiled-quickness to their every move, every kink that was possible ironed out for the most part. But still… there was a certain kind of disconnect between the pair: the tall and towering flowers alongside the more bushier and stout ones were telling in their own way. Ash longed for height, for growth, for greatness beyond everything he’s ever known. Pikachu wants the same, but there was some distance between that primal urge that were bared with every cut-up petal and splintered wood. She internally filed those observations and moved forward, coming to face a very vibrant display by a very familiar face doing a very unfamiliar pose: bowing.

“How do you like our work now, madame?”

Mabel chuckled once, using her cane to nudge up Korrina’s chin. There was no need for her to flatten her pride now, not without cause. Appraising the work, she can see some improvement this time—at least the plants used weren’t from two completely different fields this time. She gave a surreptitious look towards Lucario, who let out a surprised bark before turning away, and Mabel grinned. Of course, youth rarely liked to be challenged, and this young lady was still desperately scrabbling for some approval. The Lucario too. It’s clear that there is much work to be done in regard to the two of them, but at least they are moving a little closer to the true intent of the activity here, and that’s what counts for today. Refocusing lens takes time, after all.

“I’m so sorry, I was working on the Little Flower Arranger 2.55—”

“Why’s it called that?”

“Ash, let him finish!”

Mabel sighed good-naturedly as she looked around Clemont’s waist to the creation that he made alongside Chespin while the rambling flowed on above her. Normally, she would expect a Grass-Type to know their plants, but she was sorely mistaken when the other day Chespin had contracted a rash from sleeping on some poison ivy. Clemont seemed to balance out his Pokemon well with his worried nature, but they have yet to learn how to cater to both without leaving one side wanting, which could be expected if one knew of his adolescent Gym Leader status and focused Typing. Today seemed to be more of a Clemont-day, with the machine’s smoking remains blowing up a small portion of flowers and leaving the ground smoky and charred. At least he had some extras on hand to fill up the empty space—she can appreciate readiness whenever it appears, in all of its forms.

“Hey, look, Dedenne! It’s our turn now!”

Bonnie may be too young to be a Trainer yet, but she held some very interesting insights alongside the Pokemon of her choice. Their bouquets always held the most changes and variation, with some surprises being found around whenever they came back with their flowers. Yesterday was a freshly plucked Budew that they played around with while waiting for her to come around. Today seemed to be the pebbles that they arranged in a smiley face on top of the soil, with both of them mirroring the face. It was a very charming attempt, and if the group wasn’t on a quest for Korrina’s sake, Mabel might’ve indulged in her own desire to work with her as it was. The difference between this young girl and her brother was as clear as night and day, and yet, there were always the one clue (straight stalks this time). Patting the child’s head, she moved onto the final stop.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·. 

Serena held her breath next to Fennekin, heart pattering in her chest as she held her hands in front of her. It was her turn to present their work of art, and bearing her and Fennekin’s heart to someone so critical… it was a lot different than just running around in the fields and doing whatever they wanted.

It felt like being on a stage.

Terrifying… and yet, exhilarating as well.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·. 

As usual, a bright smattering of gold and crimson in her work. Serena was different to the others, as she didn’t strive for big or showy or even imitations of famous works from long ago. Her creations always were related to something around her—the rainy sky yesterday, the Pokemon battle on the first day the group came, and today, it seemed to be based on Fennekin itself. It’s clear that the Pokemon approved of it with the bite marks on some of the stems, but there were signs of a human hand plucking some of the flowers as well. While both Pokemon and person shared similarities, there was a focus with the delegation of each task—finding the flower, placing it, arranging it. It was unique. It was the product of them, with the skills they both displayed.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·. 

“Wonderful and in sync,” Mabel murmured, too quiet for anyone but the two of them to hear.

Serena’s breath caught, and her right hand slowly rested on her chest as Fennekin shot a triumphant look towards Chespin’s dour face.

With two claps of her hand, Mabel called out, “Good work as always, everyone! See you all tomorrow!” and it was all Serena could do to stop herself from jumping up with a shout.

The first time she actually got praise, before Korrina or even Ash. It felt… thrilling, to know that she can surpass them in this way. In her own way.

Grabbing Fennekin, she quickly made her way out of the doors before she shared a conspiratorial giggle with her partner.