#You need to read this and get hooked like me

[thatonegrimm]

Hellooooo

OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL I WANTED TO SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR WRITINGGG!

Ive been reading for a few days now and I love it so muchh!

Anyways, I wanted to request a saja boys reacting to their partner being needy

Like trying to get their attention and all

I feel like it’d be so cute tbh 💕

Thanks for the requests! AWWW these are so cute! Hope you both enjoy!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Female Reader – “Needy & Clingy (But Only With Them)”

You weren’t clingy with most people. In fact, most of the time, you didn’t even like to be touched. But them? The boys you trusted most? You were a little different with them.

------------------

🧿 Jinu 

You weren’t normally the touchy one.

Jinu had long since learned to respect your space—never initiating contact unless you reached for him first. So the day you tugged at his sleeve mid-conversation, gently interrupting him with a soft “Can you just—hold my hand, please?”, he nearly short-circuited.

He blinked at you.

“…Right now?” he asked, glancing around the room. “I was just talking about the rice shortage—”

You nodded, not letting go of his sleeve.

And that’s how he ended up talking about regional grain import taxes while his fingers were tightly laced with yours under the table.

Later, in the hallway, you hugged him from behind—no warning, just your arms around his middle and your cheek against his shoulder.

He froze. Blue screen of death.

“…You’re doing it again,” he whispered.

“Doing what?”

“Being affectionate,” he breathed. “I don’t know how to handle this.”

But his hand came up to cover yours anyway.

And he didn’t move for a long time.

------------------

💪 Abby 

You rarely asked for attention outright—but Abby always noticed when you needed it.

The moment you sat next to him and leaned ever so slightly into his side, he shifted without hesitation—arm around you, chin resting on your head, like it was second nature.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“…Just needed you.”

“Then I’m yours,” he said simply.

No teasing. No questions.

Just immediate, effortless comfort.

And when you tugged at his shirt an hour later just to get him to look at you? He blinked and grinned.

“Oh, you want me-me right now,” he said, scooping you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

You buried your face in his neck.

He laughed gently, rubbing your back.

“You never have to ask. You want me? You got me.”

And you stayed like that until he had to move—at which point he just carried you with him.

------------------

📚 Mystery

You weren’t usually very cuddly.

So when you approached him in the quiet corner of the room and silently leaned against his side—no words, no warning—Mystery paused.

Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just… observed.

You expected him to shift away. Maybe question it.

Instead, he reached up—slowly—and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

“Want me to talk?”

You shook your head.

He hummed softly and leaned back against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder, comfortable in the silence.

Then later—when you sat down beside him and held out your pinky with a quiet, “Stay?”—

He looked at your hand like it held some secret code.

Then hooked his own pinky through yours.

“…’kay.”

And he didn’t move for the rest of the night.

------------------

💋 Romance 

Normally, you were kind of reserved in public.

So the first time you climbed into Romance’s lap during a movie night and curled up with your head under his chin, he almost dropped his drink.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, immediately wrapping his arms around you. “You love me.”

“I always love you,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Yeah, but now you’re touching me.”

His grin was unholy.

And when you buried your face deeper into his hoodie and refused to let go?

He gasped. “Is this exclusive? Do I get special privileges now?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t need you to.

The next morning, he strutted into the kitchen, holding your hand like a trophy. “Guess who only cuddles me?”

“Romance,” Abby groaned. “It’s 7am.”

“Exactly. And I’m winning.”

You pretended to hide your face, but secretly? You loved it.

------------------

🔥 Baby 

You were curled up on the couch, watching him scroll on his phone, when you suddenly reached out and pressed your hand to his thigh. Just a soft touch. Just to feel him close.

Baby glanced down. “What’s that?”

You shrugged. “I wanted to touch you.”

“…You good?”

You nodded.

He stared for a moment, then sighed like it was such a burden—while his hand casually slid into yours.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll allow it.”

But when you started pulling away fifteen minutes later?

He held on tighter.

“You’re not done.”

“You said you’d allow it.”

“Now I need it.”

You blinked. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, cheeks pink.

And later that night—when you clung to him in bed, arms around his middle, legs tangled—he grumbled, but never once told you to stop.

Instead, he whispered, “Just… don’t do this with anyone else.”

------------------

M-List

[lostrologyy]

I lvoe your writing!!! can I request a firstbf!james with virgin reader?

losing your virginity to firstbf!james

cw: smut. unprotected sex. this is fucking but also making love (ik cheesy). loss of virginity. praise. missionary. cursing. not proofread! lmk if i missed something

a/n: ty for requesting angel! i have a job interview in half an hour so idk if i'll survive. anyway, remember english isn't my first language!

laying underneath him, you feel james’ lips plant little pecks from your cheek to your neck and collarbone, one leg supporting him from crushing you as the other presses slightly between your legs, his entire body covering yours even though the red curtains of his four-poster bed are shut.

the air feels warm, or maybe it’s james’ breath against your skin that’s making you feel hot. either way, you let out a shaky moan when his mouth claims yours again, his lips parting to let his tongue join the kiss, desperate and full of need.

you return the fight shyly, whining when his knee shifts between your thighs, making your legs shake and your core wet from the contact.

you feel him hard pressed on your hip, and that’s enough to clear your mind from the foggy, sinful thoughts scattered on your brain.

he protests with a noise when you pull away, a sharp curse leaving him as he drinks you in— spread out and trembling just for him.

“fuck, sorry love. i got a bit excited.” he laughs, pulling back from you, but your hand flies to grab his neck.

“no jamie, i- i wanna do it.” you tell him in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper as your eyes wander to the ceiling, incapable of making eye contact.

he stills. not in shock or judgment, only softness in his eyes. Like you just handed him something important and fragile, and in some way, you are.

“are- are you sure, angel? you know we don’t have to do anything, right?” his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, so slow it aches.

“i want to… with you.”

and his breath catches, like you just knocked the wind out of him.

you kind of expect him to tease you, say something cocky like he usually does. but he smiles and kisses your forehead.

he doesn’t rush with it. he takes his time kissing you. his hands warm at your waist, your thighs, your back. when he lifts your shirt, it’s almost like he’s unwrapping a present he’s been waiting for his whole life.

“you’re shaking.” he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours.

“i’m nervous.”

“me too.” he admits, smiling a little. “i want to make it good for you.”

and he does.

he peels off the rest of your clothes gently, stroking and cradling your hips like he’s afraid you might break. you lay there, only in your underwear, covering your face with your hands from embarrassment at being so exposed while he’s still dressed.

it almost like he reads your mind, because he immediately starts undressing too, you watch him slowly take off the layers of clothing, and your face gets warm at the vision that is his body—soft in some places, solid in others, all golden skin and messy hair with a trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers.

you want to look away but you can’t. he’s beautiful in a way that makes your heart ache.

he hooks your panties to a side, and you hold your breath when you feel him pressing against you.

“god,” he chokes, his forehead dropping to yours. “just- tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? we can stop anytime.”

you feel him line himself up, his tip nudging against your entrance and your clit, making you flinch—and then it happens. big, warm, unfamiliar.

your body tightens at the strange pressure, but he doesn’t move. he stays still, letting you adjust.

“breath, angel.” he whispers.

you nod, and he starts to press in, slowly, gentle.

it’s not pain exactly, more like a discomfort while he keeps going until he’s all the way in, deep and stretching and full.

you exhale a moan. he groans softly the moment your nails bury on his shoulders.

“you okay.?” he asks.

“y-yeah. just move… please.”

he grunts at your answer, and keeps moving, inch by inch, in and out. the air fills with the sharp, wet sound of skin slapping, your whines joining the symphony when the pleasure hits you. you feel claimed, his in a way you’ve never felt before.

it’s overwhelming, the way he kisses your jaw, groans and whispers sweet, dizzying things:

“fuck, you’re perfect.”

“so good for me angel, soso good.”

“fucking made for me, i swear.”

your moans get louder, walls pulsing and clenching around his cock as you arch up to him. each thrust stretches you open over and over, and it’s almost too much. he pulls out until only the tip is buried inside you. you whine at the loss followed by his hips slamming into you again, touching a spot inside you that makes your stomach clench and your eyes roll back.

“jamie—god—please don’t stop, please.” you beg.

“not gonna.” he pants. “not stopping until you’re filled to the brim with my cum.”

his forehead drops to your shoulder, and your hands scrabble at his back when a familiar pressure starts forming, aching and sweet.

he slips a hand between your bodies, his fingers a bit clumsy as they rub and pinch your sensitive clit. a sharp gasp ripping your throat as you feel closer to the edge.

and james feels it.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he groans. “you’re so wet and tight. i’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

your pussy clenches again, and it destroys him. his thrusts become faster, rougher, and the orgasm crashes you at the same time you feel hot spurts of cum flood you, thick and endless and so much. your back arches off the mattress, mouth falling open on a gasp and your vision goes white. for a second everytime disappear except the delicious stretch and the drag of his fingers clutching your thighs.

“shit, baby—shitshitshit, you’re perfect.”

he collapses on top of you, his weight wrapping you like a blanket as you both come down the high. your bodies are trembling, slick and sweaty, legs tangled together, breathless and dazed.

none of you moves, his now softening dick still deep inside you, holding you like you’re his entire world.

“you okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing your jaw.

you nod and wrap your arms around him.

“did i hurt you?” he plants a kiss on your shoulder.

you shake your head, too overwhelmed to speak, and he holds you just as tight like he’s scared you’ll float away.

“you made me feel safe.” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything, just kisses you, slower this time. like a thank you, like a promise.

lostrologyy © 2025.

[keirareidss]

Hear me out. Halloween special. Reader dresses up as a sexy version of one of Spencer’s favorite book characters. And the genius thing is that girlie you can repost it on Halloween. But I NEED that blurb

-☕️

BRILLIANT! I love it omg, here it is, thank you for requesting!

♡ summary: you dress up as a character from your boyfriend's favorite show, but with a sexy twist pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: reader wears a dress, some physical descriptions of reader wc: 0.7k a/n: prolly gonna start making headers for my blurbs too cuz I just love creating headers and aesthetics 😁

Halloween is Spencer's favorite holiday. Maybe his favorite day in general. But you were determined to make this Halloween a little more... special.

You were planning on surprising him with a sexy costume this year, forcing you to do a deep dive, scouring the internet (reading Reddit threads) for ideas. You decided to go for a Star Trek costume, smiling faintly at the memory of all those late nights watching the show with your boyfriend.

He was obsessed with Star Trek, you know that from how often he's rambled about the show to you, sometimes for up to an hour. You never stopped his rants, too busy admiring his face, his voice, even the subject he was talking about. Somehow, he was always able to make whatever he was talking about sound interesting.

You found all the parts of your costume online, having to wait around a month for one of the pieces to show up. Thankfully, you'd started this process early. But finally, all of the parts arrived and you had your costume complete by October 28th.

Three days later, Friday afternoon, you put it on. It was a short latex dress, the skirt black and the top a vibrant blue with a scooped neckline, showing off your cleavage, along with the Star Trek logo on the left side. Coupled with knee high black boots and a prop phaser gun, your costume was complete.

Now all you had to do was wait for Spencer to come home.

☆゜・．．・゜・．．・゜☆゜・．．・゜・．．・゜☆゜・．．・゜・．．・゜☆

"Angel! Are you here?" Spencer called out, stepping into the entryway, shedding his bag and coat and toeing off his shoes. You decided to do a bit of roleplay with him, jumping into the bedroom doorway, knees bent, your back against the door frame, the toy gun held close to your shoulder, pointed at the ceiling.

"Thank goodness you're here! We must hurry, the Borg are coming!" You exclaimed theatrically. You realized just a couple minutes ago that you didn't actually know all that much about Star Trek. Most of the time, when you were watching the show, your attention was split between the TV and the man who's lap your head was in.

"What-?" Spencer cut himself off with a bewildered laugh, his eyes scanning your form, his eyes wide. Your hair had been styled big and voluminous like some of the women in that show. "What is going on?" He stepped closer to you and you decided to keep up with your bit.

"We have to get back to the ship!" You were just improvising space phrases now. "Hurry commander!" You jumped forward, clinging to his shoulders as he smiled down at you, confused but pleasantly entertained.

"This is amazing, when did you buy this?" He asks, looking down at your costume.

"Like a month ago." You answered, forgoing the Star Trek roleplay, partly because you ran out of phrases but also because your boyfriend was finally home and holding you in his arms.

"Why?" He laughed and your head tilted in confusion. Did he forget it was his favorite holiday?

"It's Halloween." You said plainly.

"I know. But we usually just watch scary movies and hand out candy to the three kids that come here."

"Well maybe it's time we change that." You sidled up closer to him, pressing your body flush against his as his hands find your hips.

"What are you suggesting?" You just grinned, hooking your fingers in his belt loops and tugging him backwards, towards the bedroom.

"Ready for the night of your life? ...Captain Reid?" You said the title unsurely, not knowing if there was even a captain in star Trek. You were partly confident that you'd heard it said in the show at some point.

"Definitely, Cadet." He said in an attempt at a sultry voice but the reality of what you were doing made you chuckle as you leaned up to kiss him.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni, @pixie-verse, @westanleovaldito, @khxna

[dollfacefantasy]

Imagine a private anatomy class with college tutor!Zayne... it would be very educational of course. Just for the sake of medicine and research and having good grades.

zayne x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, possibly incorrect scientific facts (i looked them all up but just in case)

“in order to complete the lesson, you need to remain still,” zayne directed, his voice calm and quiet like it always was.

“‘m trying,” you whined. “you’re not making it easy.”

“i’m doing exactly what you asked,” he said. “you told me you were having trouble retaining the facts from the textbook, even when i read them to you. you said you needed something more hands-on.”

that was true. you had said that on the phone to him last night when you called in a fit of anxiety, stressing beyond a healthy level about your upcoming anatomy test. your professor was a tough grader, it was multiple choice and written, timed as well. you could not get yourself to remember the vocab terms to save your own life (or grade point average).

you’d spent hours upon hours trying to label blank diagrams of the human body, attempting rewrites of your notes from memory, and downloading dozens of practice tests all to no avail.

luckily, you were blessed with a tutor in the form your boyfriend. he’d passed his anatomy courses with flying colors two semesters ago. and he knew you were struggling now. he’d offered to help. you’d just been too prideful and set on succeeding on your own.

however, barely getting by with a C on your last exam broke your will and pushed you to cut your losses. you had to do better next time if you wanted to pass the course with a grade high enough to advance.

this little tutoring session had started off normal. you’d prepped notecards, bookmarked your textbook, and spread an array of highlighters across the coffee table. but somehow you’d still ended up flat on your back with your ass in his lap and his fingers swirling around your clit.

his arm stayed hooked over your waist to keep you secure as he toyed with you. it held you in place despite your attempts to squirm.

“the clitoris has ten thousand nerve endings,” he mused as his fingers danced around your little swollen bud. “it’s the most sensitive organ on a woman’s body.”

“sounds about right,” you whimpered with a pointed look.

a faint smirk ghosted across his lips. “unlike other parts of the reproductive system, its sole purpose is to provide sexual pleasure.”

as a mark of punctuation, he gave your clit a gentle pinch. you arched your back off of the couch below and let out a whine.

he hummed, rewarding your noise with more pressure to that pulsing bundle of nerves.

“you’re getting so wet for me,” he said. his thumb delved lower to rub up and down over your slit.

“fuck,” you mewled. your chest heaved with heavier breaths as your hand came up to rub at your face.

his freehand pet soothing stripes onto your hip. “as you become sexually aroused, glands near the vaginal and urethral openings secrete lubrication-“

“to decrease friction during intercourse and improve the environment for a man’s sperm,” you finished.

“ah-ah. the cervical mucus aides the man’s sperm. technically a different fluid,” he corrected.

“oh whatever,” you pouted.

that smug look on his face grew, and he swiveled his hand so that his thumb was on your clit while his digits were level with your entrance.

“it’s alright, darling. your test isn’t for another week. i’ll make sure you get it by then,” he said just as his index and middle fingers slid inside of you.

a gasp burst from your lips. you shuddered as your body accommodated his intrusion. he pumped them back and forth slowly, giving you time to get used to the feeling.

your walls clenched around him in response. his thumb continued those tight little circles up above.

“fuck, zayne,” you whined.

without missing a beat, he went on. “the depth of the vagina ranges from about two and a half to six and a half inches.”

“wow,” you choked out. listening to his little lessons were beyond you at this point. he could spout off the most nonsensical points and you’d nod along just so he wouldn’t stop moving his hand.

luckily for you, that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. he kept up his movements at a consistent speed. he twisted his wrist, wagging his thumb over your clit. all you could do was dig your heels into the couch and curl your toes.

your body felt hot all over. the heat originated in your belly but it had spread throughout your limbs and up into your chest and neck. the weight of his stare only added to it. his piercing eyes were constantly on you, studying you through those thin glasses as if you were the subject of his teachings.

you had just acclimated to the constant stream of sensations flooding your body when he rotated his arm a certain way and curled his fingers within you. a burst of white hot bliss smacked into you, causing your hips to buck and a loud moan to flow from your mouth.

“did that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, almost mocking.

you nodded eagerly, whining out “mhm” and clutching at his forearm.

“you know, experts debate the existence of the g-spot, but many people report the intense pleasure that comes with stimulating that area of the vagina” he practically purred.

then he nudged his fingers upwards again. and again. you nearly rolled off his lap from the force your body reacted with. his arm tightened around your waist just as your grip on his forearm did.

“are you close to release? your muscles are spasming and your breaths are getting faster. you’re sweating a little too,” he teased.

if it was anyone but zayne examining you so thoroughly, you might have felt embarrassed. but every word spoken in his silky tone of voice brought you closer to the euphoric edge.

you could barely get out a yes before you felt yourself burst. that heavenly feeling crashed into you hard and washed over you slowly at the same time. your heart skipped a beat or two as your lashes fluttered against your waterline.

he continued with his efforts throughout your high, working you through the climax with precise attention.

as you started to come down, he withdrew his digits from your hole and scooped you upright into his lap. his arms wrapped tight around your frame, and his lips pressed gentle kisses onto your temple.

“the quick rushes of hormones during sexual activity can leave you feeling particularly vulnerable afterwards. it’s important to have a partner that cares for you during that time,” he murmured.

you smiled and glanced up at him. “that’s not really anatomy.”

“it’s still important,” he said in return before kissing your lips.

you responded on instinct, and it was then that you realized in this position, you could feel a solid bulge pressing against your ass. you pushed your hips back slightly.

“i wanna care for my partner too,” you mumbled, pulling away to see his eyes.

he met your gaze and cupped your cheek, speaking lowly. “well if you’re in the mood for another lesson, i suppose we could go a little deeper.”

[kdh-tally]

Mystery x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Mystery and his partner.

Author's Note : 4/5 complete. The only one left is Jinu!! Should i start tagging my master list in these so you can read the rest?

You met Mystery by accident. 

You were at a gaming café late at night, your favorite time to play.

It wasn’t crowded, there were just a few regulars playing quietly in their own corners.

You were halfway through a ranked Valorant match, trash-talking your opponents in a low voice and carrying your teammates like always.

You played with your camera on, only for your teammates to see however.

That’s when he sat next to you.

You didn’t notice at first. Not until someone on your team started whispering through your headphones. “Yo… is that Mystery from Saja Boys next to you??”

You glanced to your left to see some dude setting up a game next to you.

Tall guy, hood up, mask on, purple nail polish, and the infamous hair.

 You only saw a glimpse of his screen, he was queueing into your game.

Fortunately you and your friends were in the lobby. 

So you paused your game and looked over.

“You new?”

He paused, then slowly pulled down his mask just low enough to answer clearly.

“Nah. Just haven’t played in a while.”

He had spent quite a lot of his time as a human playing games and watching anime.

You smirked at this, not really caring for his idol status. 

“Good. I need more teammates who don’t panic when I push solo.”

He stared at you through his hair before speaking again “You’re that top Radiant Jett player, aren’t you?”

“Guilty.” You grinned, kinda shocked he knew who you were. “You’re one of the Saja Boys right?” 

Mystery was hooked from that second. Not just cause you were an absolute pro at one of his favourite games, but because you made him slightly nervous in a way few people did.

You didn’t seem to care that he was an idol. 

You were just a chill gamer with good reflexes and a sharp tongue.

He started matching his log-in times with yours. Sitting next to you and watching your play through. You didn’t speak much but you always played together. 

Eventually, you added each other on social media.

He used a private account of course.

He started bringing you drinks and snacks.

He’d leave em on your desk cause you sit in the same place everytime.

One night, after a long match, he took off his headset and asked, quietly, "Would you ever wanna hang out later?"

“Depends on who I'd be hanging out with.”

“…Me.”

“Then yeah. I would.”

Many of your hang outs did end up being at the cafe, except you two wouldn’t be playing games.

You’d order food, talk, get to know each other, etc.

One day a group of fans surrounded your table when the two of you were discussing who was the best agent to main.

“H-hi,” one of them stuttered as they stood by your table. “Could we have an autograph?”

Mystery looked stunned and was ready to respond, but then they pulled out a poster of you?????

You were shocked too

“Are you talking to me?”

They nodded enthusiastically.

You were stunned but signed it. They took photos with you before leaving.

Damn

Unfortunately, they captured Mystery’s hair in the image.

Now fans know that both you and Mystery hang out at the cafe.

The cafe gets stalked and so you’re forced to hang out somewhere else.

He eventually invites you to the dorms cause your privacy at the cafe just gets breached too many times.

This is perfect cause guy has a mega awesome setup.

He rooms with Baby and they’re both gaming nerds so they have everything

You love his room.

You see Baby alot cause its his room too but he’s super chill and usually out at some convenience store?

Mystery confesses to you after you clutch a 1v3.

You were so hyped cause it was like some pro match with the best players in the world and you won.

He was watching you, hair up, eyes bright and smirking.

“I like you” he muttered.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Whaaaaaaaaat?”

“I like you.”

You’rse still so shocked.

“I’m not great at this stuff,” he said, voice low. “But I like being around you. You’re smart, annoying, kind of terrifying. It’s good.”

You stared, brain lagging.

“You gonna say something?” he asked, amused.

You let out an amused laugh, tossing a pillow at his head “I like you too, idiot.”

He smiled. 

Now that you're dating he gets hella clingy.

He always brings you snacks before a gaming session.

You got matching everything

Matching usernames

Matching pfp’s 

Matching outfits on your characters

He sits closer to you. 

He doesn’t sit at all, he lounges on your lap.

One day someone was flirting with you online and he reported the account but he didn’t feel like it was enough.

He goes to Baby, learns what doxxing is and threatens to release the guys information.

The poor person might lose his job just because he flirted with Mystery’s partner 😐

Loves listening to your voice.

Whenever he has to go on tour without you he listens to your past lives or calls you just to hear you speak.

Since you spend most of your day gaming (its basically your job) late night ramen dates in the dorm kitchen become your thing. 

You sit on the counter while he cooks. He lets you taste test everything, feeding you with his own chopsticks, pretending not to blush.

He let you borrow his hoodie once. Now it’s yours. 

He never takes it back. Instead, he buys a second one and pretends that was his plan all along.

The most encouraging boyfriend.

When you go live Mystery watches from a burner account and sends messages like

“who’s that pro? i think i love them”

“your boyfriend is so lucky”

“marry me”

He holds your hand under the desk while gaming, thumb running circles into your palm whenever you die in-game or get frustrated.

You both door-dash takeout at 1 a.m. and eat on the floor of his room, surrounded by energy drink cans, empty snack bags, and your gaming gear.

Extra food gets sent to Baby

If you ever get into an argument he gets super soft after. 

Doesn’t apologize with words, he just shows up with your favorite snack, lies down next to you, and nudges your shoulder until you give in and cuddle.

The other Boys only found out through Baby

Jinu notices Baby keeps bringing more food into his room and corners him. 

“Are you guys hiding someone in there?” he interrogates the blue haired guy in the living room.

Romance and Abby are watching curiously.

“I’m not hiding anything”

“So why do you always take enough food to feed four people?” Jinu scoffs

“It’s for me, Mystery and…”

“And?..” Jinu, Romance and Abby ask at the same time.

“And Mystery’s partner.”

“What the hell?”

You can hear them crashing out from the room but you don’t plan to leave.

Mystery is all comfortable on your chest, your playing with his hair as he sleeps. 

Life could never be better.

He would call you things like:

Pro : When you beat everyone in your game.

My Hero : Teasingly

Your Username : He loses you in a store and just goes Has anyone seen ‘Your Username’!”

Out of embarrassment you run back to him.

Mine : Possessive. 

자기 (jagi) : “Baby” but in korean. He doesn’t want to call you his bandmates name but still wants it to be cute. Hence the reason it’s in korean.

You would call him things like:

Pretty Boy : Affectionately. Picture you two cuddling at night. He’s just such a pretty boy.

Sweetheart : In voice chat when you play with others. He mutes his mic reaaaal quick when you say this.

Furry : I think this one is self explanatory…

Cutie : You just get so much cute aggression around him.

Lovey : Almost all the time.

[letteremi]

childhood friend!Gojo x fem!reader

warnings: angst

credit goes to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!

part 4 <- part 5 -> part 6 | series masterlist

You find the head of the Gojo clan fast asleep at the teacher’s desk — his desk now — in his classroom. Head buried in the crook of his elbow as he slumps in that rickety old chair that you guys used to fight over during recess, chest rising ever so gently. You almost don’t want to wake him. 

But duty calls. And so does Yaga. 

All it takes is one tap of his shoulder before his sleep-addled eyes blink open. He squints, and you can see it in his face — how he’s swimming through mind fog, before recognition flashes in his eyes. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how he looks when he wakes up — so untroubled, still. You cling to every moment he does, to make up for the way you won’t ever get to wake up beside him. 

“Oh hey, you.” A familiar smirk tugs at his lips. Even when half-asleep, Gojo’s first instinct is to tease. 

His voice is husky with sleep, like he’d been calling for you in a dream. 

You swallow that thought, push it away before it poisons you. 

“Hey.” You slide a stack of documents on the table. “You’ve got to finish this by tonight.”

Gojo blinks at the stack, and then at you. His gaze drifts down to the papers, and then back up, incredulous — like it’s a live grenade that he can’t believe you, of all people, just handed to him. 

He groans, slumping further into his chair, fingers raking through his snowy locks. “Paperwork is just an excuse for Yaga to work me to the bone,” he decides, dragging out each syllable with contempt. 

“To the bone? Is that what they call falling asleep nowadays?” You nudge the heap closer to him, like the proximity would increase the likelihood of him completing the task. 

He snorts. “I was meditating. Conserving my energy,” Gojo protests, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh, staring at the ceiling like he’s asking the heavens for strength. Then, one finger hooks itself under his blindfold, and he peeks at you from under his lashes, mischief glinting. 

God. 

He has to know what that does to people, right? What that does to you. 

“You could always help me,” he drawls, leaning forward like he might close the impossible distance between you. “If we work together, maybe I’ll even have time to take you out for some late-night mochi.” 

Dessert seems to give him the incentive he needs to get it together. Okay, you’ll play along. 

Just for dessert. Nothing else. 

You roll your eyes, because that’s safer than anything honest. “Finish the paperwork first. Then we’ll talk.” 

A spark of excitement lights up his entire face. Gojo straightens up, cracking his knuckles like he does before facing the final boss in some Digimon game. 

“Oh? That’s practically a yes.”

“It’s a maybe,” you correct, but you’re already regretting giving him that sliver of hope. 

He grins — wide and boyish, the kind of grin that would make you wonder how this man could be the strongest sorcerer alive, if you hadn’t already seen his prowess in battle. 

Gojo finally picks up his pen with exaggerated seriousness. But as he moves to start, it slips from his fingers and rolls off the desk. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He leans down to retrieve it amidst your laughter. 

Under the desk, his gaze catches on something, and he goes still. 

Scrawled into the old wood, half-hidden beneath years of scratches and chewing gum, is a heart. Inside it, your name and his, messily carved together in childish handwriting — he recognises it from years of reading off your notes — from a time when you were young and silly enough to believe that something as simple as a carved heart could keep you tied together forever. 

He runs his fingers over it slowly, almost reverently. Then, he looks up at you, blue eyes wide and softened by something unspoken. 

“What’s wrong with your face?” You bend down to his level, your neck cricks at the uncomfortable angle you tilt your head at. “Oh.” 

The heat that rises to your cheeks is immediate, and you’re a mess trying to cover it up. You never did get over your habit of intertwining your name with his, and it’s about to bite you in the ass. 

Quick! How to salvage decades of friendship with one sentence?

You clear your throat, shift your weight. “Oh yeah,” you say, as if he had just told you about the weather. “I used to like you then.” Then. And now. And probably for the rest of your life. 

This crush was getting pathetic. You could practically feel Shoko judging you right now, sifting through about hundreds of conversations worth about the idiot sitting before you. 

A faint pang of hurt echoes in your chest at the realisation. Still, speaking about your feelings in past-tense felt wrong. Like you were betraying Gojo in some way. Even if he didn’t even know of the true extent of your feelings, even when he never once reciprocated. 

You brace yourself for the teasing, the jokes, the inevitable smirk that would let you pretend this moment hadn’t cracked your carefully built walls wide open. 

But it doesn’t come. 

Instead, Gojo just stares at you. Really stares. His fingers hover over the carved heart, tracing the shaky lines of your names as if he’s really memorising what they look like side by side. You shake your head. Wishful thinking.

The silence stretches, humming with all the words that have always hovered just out of reach. You’re begging for one of his easy laughs, anything to slice through this awkward tension. 

Then, after what feels like forever (maybe about five seconds), he exhales a soft laugh — almost disbelieving. He tilts his head, eyes meeting yours, impossibly blue and impossibly open. 

“I used to like you then, too.” He’s matching your tone so easily it hurts. It’s like he’s reading the morning newspaper — you can picture it right now, him, an ankle crossed over his knee, sipping coffee, and prattling about the crossword. Except the answer to today’s puzzle is not just one word, it’s a four word phrase you’re going to agonise over until the end of time. 

Too little, too late?

Or is it: right person, wrong time. 

The words feel like a physical blow, aimed for your heart, and felt in your gut — dull and aching. Your lips part, but no sound comes out except for the hitch of your breath.

His gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer, and then, the switch flips. He leans back, the smirk slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. 

“You know I learned how to play the guitar for you, right?” He strings an imaginary instrument, fingers gliding across illusory cables with practiced ease. 

You scoff a disbelieving huff, though you’re leaning into the playful ease like it’ll scrub away the growing ache in your chest. “Thought you did that cause Suguru bet you couldn’t.”

Saying his name still hurts. Like pressing on a bruise you keep forgetting is there. 

“Well, that too,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “but also because you said you liked that one guy who played guitar.” He takes a photo of the engraved wood, giggling to himself. 

You grab at his phone, only to completely miss. “Did he sing that one song, and did he play in that one band too?” you tease. 

The room falls silent, and the setting sun casts warmth into the space. You've never felt so cold.

“Man…we were such dumb kids, huh?” He laughs, light and breezy. Like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open, and then crassly stitched it back together. 

You force out a shaky chuckle of your own, nails digging into your palms. The sting grounds you enough to reply. “Yeah,” you say, and you hope your voice doesn’t sound as small as you feel. “Just dumb kids.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we grew out of that, right?” he adds, grin stretching wide. Almost a bit too bright. But that’s Gojo for you.

“Can’t imagine us being together,” he hums, as if it’s not a fantasy you’ve built in your mind throughout the years. Not a reality that you wished so desperately would come true, if not for his thick head. 

That last thought is bitter. Ew. It’s wrong to blame your best friend for failing to realise that you felt the same way, when you never realised he did either. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it worked out this way. If you two couldn’t even read each other, you’d probably fall out, miscommunicate. 

Yeah. Satoru will always just be a friend. You ignore the strange pang in your heart, as though you haven’t gotten used to that truth already. It just hurts, remembering it. 

“Right,” you echo. And for a second, you can almost pretend it doesn’t feel like lying. “I’d probably get sick of you forgetting anniversaries and the lack of bouquets,” you tease, slipping back into routine. 

Gojo almost looks offended, sitting right back up to defend himself. “Hey! I’d always remember important dates. And, I am a flower freak.” 

Oh, you know. Whenever his ex-girlfriend posted pictures of beautiful floral arrangements, or romantic, candle-lit dinners, you’d like the photos and pretend jealousy wasn’t simmering in your gut. 

Gojo picks up his pen again, twirling it like nothing ever happened. “Now, about that paperwork…” he murmurs, though, his hand hovers over the pages a moment longer than it should. 

You watch him, your heart knocking against your ribs, a quiet ache settling in your chest, full of almosts and what ifs. 

“Don’t stay up too late.” You turn to the door before your face can betray you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls after you, all teasing bravado again. But you don’t miss the way his eyes drop back under the desk, fingers brushing that old heart one last time. 

You step into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you, sealing the moment away. 

Your last attempt? Successful. 

You wish it hadn’t been.

taglist: @bloopsstuff @vynn30 @juliarchiv3s @fushiguroooozzz @lagataprrr @justachillgirllui @arahiraaai @jheneea @chiefsandwichcrown @bakugouswaif @casssiesthings @duckness-spam-acct @momoewn @reree22222 @kodzu-ken @sarcasticintrovertedsoul @unknownw0css @44ina @ginginha @ri-sa20 @nanamisss @ieathairs @bbatzvil @apobangpowrld @onyxxxxqq @youregettingtickled @zurakoofgintama @gris3o @sanchann @doeionic @mashtura

[bloodlineslut]

Veinbound | Roman Reigns / Jey Uso

Pairings: Roman Reigns / Jey Uso x black! OC

Warnings: vampire! Roman and Jey, cheating, forbidden attraction, oral (f receiving) mentions of drinking blood, fluff, steamy makeout session

Summary: While Roman was away in Italy, Jasmine and Jey began a forbidden relationship, with everyone knowing but Roman. Now with everyone back at Naomi's house for movie night, will they be able to act right?

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: yall I just love the whole vampire AU with the wrestlers so I might make a part two to this lowkey… (once again, literally was inspired by @uceyliyahh please go read her stories, I be HOOKED on them)

Jasmine knocked on the wooden door of Naomi’s house that had beautiful carvings on it as she waited for it to open. She saw Naomi’s approaching figure through the glass and smiled. She opened it, pulling Jasmine in for a warm hug.

“Hey girl! You look amazing!” Naomi grabbed her hand and led her further into the house, closing the door behind her. Only a select number of people had been inside the house, allowing their entrance by being invited in by Naomi. Since Jasmine was human, though, she never had to be invited in.

The others were Roman, Solo, Jimmy, and Jey.

Jasmine first met Naomi at the gym on an early morning. Her muscles had tapped out in the middle of a benchpress set and she frantically looked around the gym for help, only to be suddenly relieved by a girl who had picked up the weight like it was nothing. She soon found out that her name was Naomi and thanked her, offering to take her out to coffee after.

Long story short, they became best friends.

Naomi didn’t tell Jasmine right away what she was. But when she finally did, they had already built up a lot of trust in each other.

Jasmine had always believed that nothing new was ever under the sun so when Naomi showed her her fangs and how the veins protruded out from under her eyes whenever she felt the need to feed, it didn’t surprise her too much. She was still scared though, don’t get her wrong. But she knew Naomi would never do anything like that to her.

Plus, she had been trying this new animal diet recently.

“So how’s the new diet coming along girly?” Jasmine asked her as they skipped up the stairs to go to Trin’s room.

“Ugh. It’s hard but I think I’m getting used to it because I don’t gag at the taste anymore.” She answered honestly, plopping down on her back onto the bed as Jasmine did the same, laying on her stomach.

“Mmm, yummy yummy.” Jasmine shook her shoulders, making them both laugh.

After a pause, Naomi broke the news. “You know Roman is coming today too, right?”

Jasmine’s eyes shot to her friend’s face. “Roman’s back?” Naomi nodded.

“Yup. And Solo, but that’s it.”

Naomi knew that Jasmine had developed a thing with Jey while Roman was away, and vowed to never tell her business, but she knew how hard it would be when both Jey and Roman were around Jasmine. It was just different with Jey.

“I’m fucked.” Jasmine breathes out.

“I agree.” Jasmine hit Naomi’s arm. “What? I mean I get it. They’re both fine, but girl you gotta pick one.”

“I literally can’t pick one.” Naomi just slowly shook her head. They engaged in more conversations about how they had to fight some new werewolves last week that arrived into town.

“Oh that’s why you told me to stay at home last Friday?” Jasmine prompted.

“Mhm. Can’t have you getting attacked out here, babygirl.” Naomi proudly replied.

Suddenly Naomi stood up, sensing their guests that just arrived. She sighed, walking out of the room into the hallway, with Jasmine following close behind. “They just never knock on a door or ring a doorbell or nothing.”

Jasmine hid her laugh with her hand, but it was wiped away when she saw firsthand, Jimmy, Jey, and Solo sitting down on the barstools at the counter. Jey’s head whipped to her, able to smell the sweet aroma of her blood from downstairs.

Naomi smacked all three men upside their heads in a row, making them all act like it hurt way worse than it did. “What did I tell ya’ll about comin’ up in here and not sayin’ anything!”

They all muttered a “Sorry.”

Roman was the last person to enter into the house. His tall and large figure couldn’t be missed. He wore all black, a black hoodie, black sweatpants, and black Jordan’s, with that beautiful mane of hair in a messy man bun.

Naomi motioned her head towards Roman while looking directly at Jasmine, causing her to walk further down the steps and greet him. Roman was like the leader of their coven, appointed by the elders a few years ago.

“Hey baby. How are you?” He warmly asked, still keeping her at arm’s length. Jasmine always noticed in the times that they hugged or were in close proximity to one another, Roman never lost control or succumbed to the smell of her blood. He was very strong and disciplined.

“I’m good.” She replied and stood on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. “I missed you.” He whispered lowly in her ear.

“I missed you too.” Jasmine really did miss him while he was away. Maybe it just pushed her further into Jey’s arms.

Jasmine remembered that she didn’t greet Solo and the twins yet. She turned to them, giving Solo and Jimmy side hugs and a quick hello.

When she got to Jey, she hesitated for split second.

“Uhh Roman can you come help me get the ice cream out of the garage?” Naomi quickly distracted him.

“Yea, for sure.” They both left the kitchen and walked into the garage.

In all honesty, everyone knew that Jasmine and Jey had a thing going on, but no one dared to tell Roman.

She looked into Jey’s big brown, sparkling eyes and smiled softly at him. “Hi.”

“Hey.” That was all they needed to say and he pulled her towards him in a hug where both of his hands were splayed over her back, holding her for as long as he could. Then he heard the freezer door close from the garage and pulled away, causing Jasmine to do the same, walking to the other side of the counter.

After Roman put the ice cream on the counter to thaw out a little bit, he interlaced his fingers with Jasmine’s, walking them over to a chair at the dining table and he sat her on his thigh, those big strong arms snugly wrapped around her torso.

Naomi thumped Jey’s forehead seemingly for no reason, but she could hear his thoughts. She was the only one who could get into his mind since that was Naomi’s gift.

She heard him say, ‘She be sittin’ on my lap too.’

“Ow, c’mon Naomi! That ish hurt…” She just widened her eyes at him as if signaling and reminding him that she could still hear his thoughts.

“Whatever uce.” He muttered under his breath.

“Okay!” Naomi clapped her hands. “Ya’ll know I’m on this diet so eating regular food curbs the blood cravings. Please can ya’ll do it with me?” She handed everybody a tub of ice cream and a spoon.

Jimmy just laughed at her. “Yes ma’am.” She leaned over the counter to give him a kiss.

“You still wanted to watch that movie, Trin?” Jimmy was the only one who really called her by her nickname.

“Mhm! I been waitin’ all week.” Her and Jimmy got up to go sit on the large sofa in front of the flat screen mounted TV.

“C’mon Solo.” Jey said a little harsher than usual, irritated by the fact that he couldn’t hold Jasmine like he really wanted to.

Roman stood up, picking up Jasmine bridal style, making her giggle. He walked them both over to the love seat that was directly next to the sofa.

Right on the side that Jey was seated on.

Jasmine saw out of the corner of her eye that his mouth twitched, but he didn’t dare say anything.

“How’s summer school?” Roman quietly asked as his fingers ran up and down the lining of her leggings.

“Good, but it’s been going by super fast. I only have two weeks left.” Jasmine replied as she traced the folds of his palms.

“That’s good, I’m happy for you princess. Let me know if you need to pay for anything, you know I’ll take care of it.” His hand rested on her head, bringing it closer to lay on his chest.

As Naomi and Jimmy were arguing over what horror movie to watch, Jasmine’s phone let her know that it was on 10% and she knew Naomi kept a spare charger in her bedroom. She got up out of Roman’s lap. “Going to find a charger, I’ll be right back.”

As she walked out of the living room, she noticed that Jey was gone.

‘When did he leave?’

As she arrived to the room, the door was closed which was weird—Trinity never closed her door at all.

She shrugged it off and opened the door to enter, but was immediately grabbed at the waist by who she came to recognize as Jey.

Before she could say anything, he motioned for her to shush, quietly closing the door, and leading her to lay down beneath him on the bed.

“Jey.” Jasmine whisper-yelled at him, scared to death for Roman to walk in on them.

But if he doesn’t suspect anything, why would he find them?

“He’s right downstairs—”

Jey quieted her whispers with his warm lips, encompassing her mouth into his. Their lips molded together like missing puzzle pieces, igniting that familiar fire in her chest. His lips moved against hers like he was trying to burn the shape into his memory.

Jasmine was melting right into his hands on Trinity’s bed, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders through his hoodie. Jey’s hand went from palming the bed to palming the outer part of one of her thighs that was wrapped around his waist. The quiet sounds of their lips colliding encompassed the room.

“I miss you baby.” He said so lowly that she almost didn’t hear him.

Her heart clenched at his words, her feelings stuck between him and his cousin.

They continued to makeout with each other, pent up feelings being shared by their lips. Jasmine arched up into him, aching to be closer to him any way, anyhow.

She felt the subtle parting of his lips and then his tongue brushed against hers, deepening the kiss. Her fingers went up to his wavy hair that was cut into a fresh mullet. Jasmine moaned softly into the kiss before he pulled back enough to catch his breath, lips swollen and wet, and eyes dark.

Her chest was rising and setting rapidly with her eyes darting to the door, still so afraid to get caught. Jey’s hand slid up to cup her chin. “Don’t worry ‘bout him.”

His lips lightly trailed across her jaw before trailing down to the side of her vulnerable neck, making Jasmine hitch her breath and grip his hoodie tighter.

“Right here, baby?” He kissed the spot gently just once. Next she felt his tongue drag across the same area and she wrapped her legs even tighter around his waist, making him smile against her neck.

“Mm. You smell good.” He could smell her blood and it called out to him. He brushed his nose against the pulse in her neck, making the veins protrude under his eyes as he growled quietly. He was trying not to bite her.

“Shit, Jas. Ion know why you let me kiss you like this.” His hand gripped her waist tighter. “It drives me crazy.”

“Please don’t bite me, he’ll see and smell it…” Jasmine whispered to him, now gripping his collar and inching away from his exposed fangs.

“I know, I know.” His eyes trailed over her entire figure that was entangled with his underneath his strong body. “Fuck, I wish you were mine.”

Jey began retreating from her face and down her body, his head now between her legs that were covered by her butter-soft leggings. She felt his fingers dip under the waistband of both her pants and panties, pulling them down over her butt and up to the middle area of the back of her thighs.

“Ugh, Jey…” She whimpered, clutching the bedsheets.

“You want me to stop?” He softly asked, knowing the answer already as she silently shook her head no.

He leaned in closer to her bare center, his breath just barely ghosting over the wetness. He buried his face between her legs like he was a starving man. His tongue doing slow, deliberate movements consisting of long licks that made Jasmine curl her toes and slap the bed.

He licked circles around her throbbing clit, making her head spin and bite her tongue to keep from being too loud.

Then he put his entire mouth over everything, clit, lips, and opening, and touched every secret part of her with every flick.

“Jey that feels so good…” She whispered, covering her mouth with one hand as her hips lifted up to get more of the stimulation.

“Jasmine, we found a movie!” Naomi yelled from downstairs, making her jump at the mention of her name.

Jey’s head lifted from between her thighs as he looked at the door, hearing Naomi’s words from downstairs. He looked back at Jasmine.

She shook her head at him, pulling her panties and clothes back up into place.

“We better go back.” She told Jey and he got off of her, still leaning on the bed. She looked in Trin’s mirror to make sure her curls weren’t too messed up and wiped her mouth, trying to erase any evidence that she had just made out with her boyfriend’s cousin.

She walked out of the room, but not without grabbing the phone charger, and down the hallway to the staircase, getting herself together and acting normal so no one would suspect anything. Luckily, the staircase was behind the sofa.

“Hey, I’m back. Um Naomi your toilet is broken, by the way. It takes forever to flush.” She tried to act normal as she sat back down in Roman’s lap, giving him the charger to plug in since he was closer to the outlet.

“It is?” She asked cluelessly.

“I’ll fix it tomorrow babe, don’t worry.” Jimmy snuggled her as Jey walked in from what looked like the downstairs guest bathroom. He could always run so fast and silently too, so it always seemed like he could teleport.

“Damn Naomi, you got rabbit bones in the trash can. It smells funky in there.” Jey covered his nose, making everyone laugh but Naomi.

“Boy hush. At least I’m eating clean!”

As darkness cascaded the outside world and with all of the lights off in the house, nothing filled the room but the glow of the TV, unspoken feelings, and sexual tension.

taglist!: @christinabae @trippinsorrows @nayys-world @Chrissyxcxox @duhitzkay380 @emotionalhottiee @minsingular @potatosackk @vebner37 @jeypunkk @romanreignsbae @juicypinksblog @fearlesschimera @pittieprincess22 @moxley99 @purelycuriousthief @kelbrave @4milly @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @levissslutt @m00nlitnight @luuvprincess @sheaabuttaababyy @prettypink-princesss @amandairene88 @princess-saki1 @sharmelasworld @marababyyyy @shanthefemalerapper @theusotwinzcom @bettybelle @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trippiexlove @raya-hunter01

[skelebellie]

Hi I just wanted to tell you I am *obsessed* with your Frankenstein monster DCA au. Once I finish my commissions I'd like to make some art for it (I'm not doing art fight this year this would be just normal fanart), I've even got my friend hooked on the concept and we've done an rp of your au, heck I'm even rereading my copy of the og Frankenstein again

Is there any more information about the au you can share? And would it be okay if I told you some headcanons I have?

hell yeah!!!!! i get so excited to hear you like my frankenstein monster au! no pressure on any art, im just happy to share my brain worms with the world! heres a little sneak peak at my next frankenstein art (that isnt a sketch lol). Goodluck reading Frankenstein! Also, please share head cannons! I love hearing what people think.

speaking of these guys, heres some more information about the au!

Frankenstein’s Other Choice

In the original 1818 story Frankenstein by Mary Shelly, the monster hunts down and threatens Victor Frankenstein with a choice. Victor can either make his monster a companion, or he will dedicate the rest of his existence to chasing Victor across the world and ruining all he loves. Ultimately, Victor starts, then stops, the birth of a new companion. Forcing his monster to roam the world as an immortal singularity. Thus, leading to the stories original tale.

My AU takes place in a world where Victor does provide his monster a companion, Solis! Lunar’s story follows the basic plot of the original classic, such as his first kill and the rise and fall for his love of humanity at the hands of the DeLacy family. The AU explores their growth and complexities of navigating a world that hates their existence, and the intrinsic human need to be acknowledged. This is why Solis seems more ‘naive’ about humans faults, they didnt experience the same pains as Lunar. But like the original Monster, he wants to be part of a world he cants have. Its also why Solis doesnt favor the arts and more advanced crafts like Lunar, she was made as a blackmailed afterthought, left over parts. Nonetheless, she still holds alot of love for the world (and a borderline scientific obsession for humans).

Of course, there is a lot I want to explore in this AU! Frankenstein is very dear to me as a creative arts person who decided to pursue STEM (dont do it unless you want your brain to be rewritten for scientific analysis). Im actually getting a tattoo dedicated to the story. Rambling on, heres two videos that inspired me and are really good if you want to explore Frankensteins more nuianced side.

What can Frankenstein teach us about bigotry?

Sympathy for the Monster.

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter Seventeen | The Unraveling

🏈 Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC) | 8.2k-ish words

requested: nope

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

📝 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: closed! 💌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

Author's Note:

This is the final chapter, and I want to thank everyone who has been on this journey with me. This is the first story I've ever completed in my life, and sharing it has been both terrifying and incredible.

I've carried Joe and Riley with me for literally years - they've lived in my head through so many different versions and possibilities. Getting to finally tell their story, and having people connect with these characters who mean so much to me, has been more meaningful than I can express.

Thank you @crazytheoriststrawberry!

Riley let herself into Joe's house, dropping her bag by the door. She'd flown straight from St. Louis, her voice still hoarse from three shows in four days.

"Joe?" she called out.

Nothing. The house was quiet—not unusual for the middle of the afternoon, but she'd been hoping he'd be home.

Riley wandered into the kitchen and checked his calendar on the fridge. Physical therapy at 2:30. He'd probably be gone for another hour or so.

She pulled out her phone:

hey I'm at your house but you're not here. gonna steal your car and get stuff to make gumbo

She hit send and grabbed his keys from the hook by the garage door. Joe loved gumbo—it was one of his favorite comfort foods. He needed that right now.

Riley backed out of the driveway, already thinking about the grocery list in her head. It had been too long since she'd cooked for him—since they'd had a normal evening together that wasn't about his recovery or her tour schedule.

Maybe that's all they needed. Just a regular Tuesday night.

* * *

Riley pushed the cart through the automatic doors of Kroger, already mentally planning her grocery list. The store had that late afternoon energy—people stopping by after work, parents grabbing dinner ingredients before school pickup.

She pulled out her phone to check if Joe had responded yet. One new message.

ok

Riley stared at the two letters. Not "sounds good" or "can't wait" or even "thanks." Just ok. She tried not to read into it. He was probably still finishing up PT,  and couldn't type much.

She grabbed a basket and headed toward the meat section. No andouille, but there was decent smoked sausage. It wouldn't be exactly like Papa's, but it would do.

Her phone buzzed as she was at the counter examining the different kinds of smoked sausage. Pete's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey," she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder while she kept shopping.

"How's Cincinnati?" Pete's voice was amused but concerned. "Andy said you looked dead on your feet before you left."

"I'm fine. Just tired." 

"How's he been?" Pete asked quietly.

Riley moved toward the seafood counter. "I don't know yet. He wasn't home when I got there."

"Riles." Pete's voice was gentle but firm. "You sure about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Flying from St. Louis to Cincinnati when you should be sleeping. To surprise someone who's been..." He trailed off.

"Who's been what?"

"Riley."

"We're fine," she said, more firmly this time. "We just need to be in the same room again."

She could practically hear Pete's frown through the phone. "What can I get for you?" the guy behind the seafood counter asked.

"Two pounds of smoked sausage, please." Riley covered the phone with her hand, then brought it back to her ear. "Look, I'm grocery shopping. I'm making him gumbo. We're gonna be good."

"Riley, you flew to Cincinnati after three shows to make him dinner."

Riley sighed. "I have to go. I love you so much, but I can't do this with you right now. I'll call you later."

"Riley, just... be careful, okay? You're putting a lot of energy into someone who's been pulling away."

"He's going through a lot, Pete. He's not pulling away."

But even as she said it, Riley knew Pete was right. The Joe from before would have called her back, would have asked about the shows, would have wanted to know everything. This Joe responded with single words, if he responded at all.

"I love you," Pete said finally. "Call me if you need anything."

"Love you too."

Riley hung up and finished shopping. Celery, onions, bell peppers. A whole chicken for stock. Rice. 

At the checkout line, she found herself scrolling through her recent texts with Joe again. The pattern was stark when she looked at it all together. Her messages were paragraphs—updates about shows, questions about his recovery, random thoughts throughout the day. His responses were getting shorter and shorter.

Last week: Good luck tonight.

Yesterday: Thanks.

Today: ok

The cashier scanned her items while Riley stared at her phone screen. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe she was putting too much energy into someone who was pulling away. But Joe was hurting, physically and emotionally. His whole season had been taken from him. Of course he was struggling to connect.

She just needed to remind him what they had together. Good food, comfortable silence, the easy rhythm they'd found before everything got complicated.

Riley paid for the groceries and headed back to the car, already planning how long the gumbo would take to cook. Joe would probably be home by the time she got back. They'd have the whole evening together, no distractions, no pressure.

She could fix this. She could fix them.

* * *

Riley was pulling ingredients from grocery bags when she heard Joe's car in the driveway. She'd already started the stock—the whole chicken simmering with onions, celery, and bay leaves, filling the kitchen with rich, familiar smells.

The front door opened and closed. His keys hit the bowl by the entrance.

"Hey," Joe's voice came from the entryway, surprised but not excited.

"Hey yourself." Riley turned toward him with a smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "How was PT?"

Joe appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in his workout clothes—grey joggers and a hoodie, hair slightly damp with sweat. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there last time they saw each other.

"Fine. Good." He stayed in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he should come in. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

"I wanted to surprise you lovey." Riley gestured toward the stove. "I'm making  you gumbo. I figured you could use some good comfort food."

Joe's mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." She moved back to the counter where she'd been chopping vegetables. "Plus I missed you. I missed cooking for you."

Joe nodded but didn't say he'd missed her too. He moved into the kitchen, but kept distance between them, leaning against the counter by the sink instead of coming to stand next to her like he used to.

"How were the shows?" he asked.

"Good. St. Louis was incredible—we sold out all three nights." Riley kept chopping celery, trying to sound casual. "The crowd went crazy for 'Daylight' Joe. It's still weird hearing thousands of people sing it back to me."

"That's good." Joe's response was flat, automatic.

Riley paused her chopping, looking up at him. "You okay? You seem..."

"PT was long and I haven't been sleeping well." Joe moved toward the doorway. "I'm gonna shower."

"Okay." Riley watched him head toward the doorway. "Dinner's gonna be a while."

"Right."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving Riley alone in the kitchen with the sound of simmering stock and her own uneven breathing. She stared at the empty doorway for a moment, trying to shake off the feeling that she'd just had a conversation with a stranger.

This wasn't the Joe who used to light up when she surprised him. Who used to want to hear everything about her day, who made her feel like coming home to him was the best part of any trip. This Joe looked at her like she was an interruption.

Riley turned back to her vegetables, chopping with more force than necessary. The onions made her eyes water, which was convenient.

Twenty minutes later, she heard the shower turn on upstairs. She'd finished her prep work—vegetables chopped and ready, sausage sliced. The stock was perfect, rich and golden. She strained it carefully, saving every drop.

In the heavy pot Papa had taught her to use for gumbo, Riley started her roux. Flour and oil, stirred constantly over medium heat until it turned dark chocolate brown. This was the part that couldn't be rushed, couldn't be multitasked. You stirred and watched and waited for the magic to happen.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Andy: how's the reunion going??

Riley stared at the message, stirring steadily. How was she supposed to answer that? That Joe had looked at her like she was an interruption? That he'd managed to have an entire conversation without actually saying anything?

She set the phone aside without responding and kept stirring. The roux was just starting to darken.

Forty minutes later, the shower turned off upstairs. Riley added her vegetables to the roux, the sizzle filling the kitchen with the smell of cooking onions. This was usually her favorite part—watching the ingredients come together, building layers of flavor that would simmer into something rich and comforting.

Joe came back downstairs in clean clothes—jeans and a t-shirt, hair still damp. He looked better, more like himself, but the distance was still there in his posture, the way he hovered at the edge of the kitchen instead of coming close.

"Smells good," he said.

"Getting there." Riley added the stock to her pot, watched it bubble and steam. "I called Papa yesterday. He asked about you."

"How's he doing?"

"Good. Ornery as ever." She smiled, stirring the gumbo. "He wanted to know when you're coming back to New Orleans. Said you still owe him a fishing trip."

"I'm not really a boat guy," Joe said quietly.

Riley waited for him to say more, but he just pulled out his phone.

"I'll let it simmer for a bit," she said, lowering the heat. "Add the sausage at the end."

"Okay." Joe was scrolling through whatever was on his screen.

Riley wiped her hands on the dish towel, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. Usually when she cooked for Joe, he'd stay in the kitchen with her. They'd talk, or he'd help, or at minimum he'd pay attention to what she was doing. Now he seemed more interested in his phone than in her or the meal she was making for him.

"I'm gonna watch some film," Joe said, still looking at his screen. "Just let me know when it's ready."

He left the kitchen before Riley could respond, heading toward the living room. She heard the TV turn on, heard him settle onto the couch.

Riley stood alone in the kitchen, the gumbo bubbling softly on the stove, and tried to ignore the growing knot in her stomach. This wasn't how she'd imagined their reunion going.

This wasn't how anything was supposed to go.

* * *

Riley stirred the gumbo, watching the vegetables soften and meld together. The TV was on in the living room—some football analysis show, the volume just loud enough that she had to raise her voice to be heard.

"So Andy completely ate it on stage last night," she called out, adding the sausage to the pot. "Tripped over his own cable during the guitar solo and just rolled with it, kept playing from the floor. I thought I was gonna die laughing."

A soft sound from the living room that might have been a laugh, but she wasn't sure.

Riley waited for him to ask more, but the silence stretched on.

"Pete's been working on this insane bass line for the new song," she continued, stirring the browning sausage. "It's so complicated I don't know how he remembers it all, but it sounds incredible live."

Silence except for the TV commentators discussing draft picks.

"Joe?"

"Yeah, I heard you. Sounds cool."

Riley bit her lip, focusing on the gumbo. The stock was simmering perfectly, rich and golden. She added it to the pot with the vegetables and sausage, watching everything come together.

"Oh, speaking of Pete he said to tell you hi," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "He's been asking about you. Wants to know when you're coming to another show."

"Tell him I said hi back."

That was it. No mention of actually coming to a show, no questions about Pete or the band. Riley could hear Joe changing channels, the brief flicker of different voices before he settled on something else.

She tasted the gumbo, adjusted the seasoning. It needed more time to develop, but the flavors were building nicely. This was usually her favorite part—the slow process of creating something warm and nourishing, something that tasted like love.

"I was thinking," she said, louder this time, "maybe when I'm done with this leg of the tour, we could take a vacation. Not just a weekend, but like a week somewhere. Just us."

"Mmm."

"We could go somewhere neither of us has been. Europe maybe? Or we could do something simple, like rent a cabin somewhere. Just us, no distractions."

The channel changed again. Riley stirred the gumbo more aggressively than necessary.

"Joe, are you listening?"

"Yeah, sorry. A vacation sounds good."

But his voice held no enthusiasm, no curiosity about where they might go or when. It was the same tone he might use to agree that it looked like rain.

Riley added the sausage to the gumbo, watching it release its flavors into the rich, dark liquid. The smell was incredible—rich and complex, exactly the way Papa had taught her. This was comfort food at its finest, the kind of meal that was supposed to bring people together.

"We've been talking about doing some acoustic stuff," she tried again. "Maybe an EP or something. Strip everything back to basics."

"Cool."

The word hung in the air between the kitchen and living room, as empty as everything else he'd said since he got home. Riley stirred the gumbo more aggressively than necessary, frustration building in her chest.

"I recorded a voice memo of it. Want to hear?"

"Sure."

Riley pulled up the recording on her phone, played it loud enough for Joe to hear. Andy's guitar work filled the kitchen—intricate and beautiful, the kind of melody that gave her chills every time she heard it.

When it finished, she waited.

"That's cool," Joe said eventually.

Cool. Again. Riley set her phone down and went back to stirring, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. Everything was cool. Everything was good. Everything was fine. But nothing felt real anymore.

"The new album's doing really well," she said, her voice smaller now. "We might get invited to do some festival dates this summer. Big ones."

"That's good."

"Some really big names. Could be huge for us." She stirred the gumbo, waiting for him to ask which festivals, which artists might be there.

Silence.

Riley tasted the gumbo again. Perfect. Just the way Papa had taught her. She turned the heat down to let it simmer, the kitchen filled with the smell of home.

"Dinner's almost ready," she called out. "Maybe ten more minutes."

"Okay."

She stood at the stove, stirring slowly, trying to convince herself that everything would be fine once they sat down together.

But deep down, she was starting to realize that Joe had already checked out of this conversation.

Maybe he'd checked out of a lot more than that.

* * *

Joe sat on his couch, staring at the TV without seeing it, listening to Riley's voice drift from the kitchen. She was trying so hard. The way she always did when she sensed something was wrong.

Every story she told, every attempt at conversation, felt like it was happening to someone else. Like he was watching from outside his own life, unable to connect to any of it.

His wrist throbbed—a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Twelve weeks of PT, twelve weeks of headlines questioning his focus, twelve weeks of Mark and Bill in his ear about image and priorities and the cost of distractions.

But it wasn't just their voices anymore. It was his own.

Joe closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of Riley humming in his kitchen. She was making gumbo. She'd flown across the country after three shows to take care of him, and he felt... nothing. No gratitude, no warmth, no connection to the woman who was trying so hard to love him through this.

When had he stopped being able to feel anything good?

"The new album's doing really well," Riley called from the kitchen. "We might get invited to do some festival dates this summer. Big ones."

Her voice sounded far away, like she was calling to him from across a canyon he didn't remember creating. Everything good in her life was expanding while everything good in his felt like it was slipping away. Her success highlighted his failure. Her energy made his emptiness more obvious.

It wasn't her fault. None of this was her fault. But somehow, loving her had become another thing that exhausted him.

Joe turned the volume up on the TV, but he could still hear her moving around his kitchen, still smell the gumbo that was supposed to comfort him but just reminded him of how broken he felt. She was trying to bring warmth into his life when all he felt was cold.

How could he keep accepting her love when he had nothing to give back?

The thought hit him with devastating clarity. Riley deserved someone who could match her energy, who could appreciate her sacrifices, who lit up when she walked into a room. She deserved someone who wasn't hollow inside.

And he... he needed to figure out who he was when everything he'd built his identity around was gone. He needed to do that alone, without pretending he was okay for someone else, without feeling guilty for not being the man she fell in love with.

"Dinner's almost ready," Riley called. "Maybe ten more minutes."

Joe's chest felt heavy. She was being perfect. Loving and patient and everything he needed. And he couldn't feel any of it. Every gesture of care felt like pressure, every kindness like a debt he couldn't repay.

This wasn't fair to either of them. Riley was pouring herself into someone who was too broken to receive it. And he was drowning under the weight of trying to be someone he wasn't anymore.

* * *

Riley tasted the gumbo one more time, adjusting the salt. Perfect. Just the way Papa had taught her.

"Okay, it's ready," she called out, turning off the heat.

No response from the living room.

"Joe?"

Still nothing. Riley wiped her hands on the dish towel and walked toward the living room. Joe was on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor instead of the TV that was still playing.

"Hey," she said softly. "Dinner's ready."

Joe didn't look up. "I can't do this with you right now."

Riley felt her heart skip. "Can't do what, talk?" She forced a small laugh. "That's okay, we don't have to talk. We can just eat."

Joe stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and final. He walked into the kitchen, but not to the table she'd set. He stopped in the middle of the room, still not looking at her.

"Riley." His voice was quiet, careful. "I mean this. I can't do this with you right now."

The words hung in the air between them. Riley stared at him, trying to process what he was saying, what he meant. The gumbo sat on the stove behind her, cooling, forgotten.

"Do you mean me being here tonight?" she asked, her voice smaller than she intended. "Or like... us in general?"

Joe finally looked up at her, and Riley saw something in his eyes that made her stomach drop. Not anger, not frustration. Just... emptiness. Like he'd already made his decision and was just waiting for her to catch up.

He looked down again, then back up. "Us in general."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Riley felt the breath leave her lungs, her hand finding the counter to steady herself.

"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

"I can't do this anymore," Joe said, his voice steady in a way that made everything worse. "The relationship. Us. I can't."

Riley stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say he didn't mean it, that he was just frustrated or tired or in pain. But he just stood there, looking at her with those empty eyes.

"I don't understand," she said finally. "Joe, what are you talking about? We're good. We're us."

Joe shook his head. "No, we're not. This isn't working anymore."

"What isn't working?" Riley's voice was getting higher, more desperate. "I flew here to see you. I made you dinner. I've been trying to support you through everything—"

"That's the problem," Joe interrupted. "You're always trying to fix things. Always trying to make it better. But some things can't be fixed, Riley."

"I'm not trying to fix anything. I'm trying to love you." The words came out raw, honest. "I'm trying to be here for you."

"I know." Joe's voice was softer now, but no less final. "But I can't handle that right now. I can't handle you being here, trying to make everything normal when nothing is normal."

Riley felt tears starting to blur her vision. "So what, you just want me to leave? To give up on us because you're going through a hard time?"

"Yes."

The single word cut through her like a blade. Riley stared at him, this man she'd flown across the country to see, who she'd been worried about for months, who she'd been supporting through the worst period of his life.

"Joe, please." She took a step toward him, but he stepped back. "Don't do this. We can figure it out. Whatever you're going through, we can work through it together."

"I don't want to work through it together," Joe said, and his voice was so calm, so sure, that it was worse than if he'd shouted. "I want to work through it alone."

"That's not what you want." Riley was crying now, not caring how she looked or sounded. "That's fear talking. You're scared and you're pushing me away because that's what you do when things get hard."

"Maybe that's what I need to do."

"No, it's not." Riley moved closer, reaching for him. "Joe, look at me. This is me. This is us. This is real."

Joe did look at her then, and for a moment she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something that looked like regret, or pain, or love. But then it was gone, replaced by that terrible emptiness.

"I know it's real," he said quietly. "That's what makes this so hard."

"Then don't do it." Riley's voice broke. "Don't throw this away because you're hurt and scared. Don't punish us for something that isn't our fault."

"I'm not punishing anyone. I'm making a choice."

"A stupid choice." The words came out sharper than she intended, fueled by desperation and heartbreak. "You're choosing to be alone when you could choose to be loved."

Joe flinched, but his resolve didn't waver. "Maybe being alone is what I need right now."

Riley stared at him, this man she'd fallen in love with, who she'd written songs about, who she'd imagined a future with. He looked like Joe, sounded like Joe, but the person standing in front of her felt like a stranger.

"So that's it?" she asked, her voice hollow. "You've decided. Without talking to me, without trying to work on it. You've just decided we're done."

"Yes."

Riley nodded slowly, wiping tears from her cheeks. Behind her, the gumbo sat cooling on the stove, the kitchen still smelling like home and comfort and all the things she'd tried to bring into his life.

"Okay. But you know this isn't something you can come back from, right? You're not asking for a break. You're ending this."

"Riley—"

"No." She held up her hand, stopping him. "You don't get to say my name like that. Not after what you just did."

She walked past him toward the entryway, grabbing her bag from where she'd dropped it hours ago when she still thought she was coming home to him.

"Riley, wait."

She turned back to look at him. "No." Her voice was steady now, resolved. "I'm calling a car. I'm getting my stuff." She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. "And I'd appreciate it if you stayed out of my way."

"Riley—"

"No, Joe." She looked up from her phone, meeting his eyes directly. "This is your choice. Your decision. I'm not going to stand here and beg you to change your mind."

She turned and headed for the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the quiet house. Joe stayed frozen in the kitchen, listening to her move around upstairs, opening drawers, zipping bags.

Thirty minutes later, she came back down with her overnight bag. She walked to the kitchen counter and carefully removed two bracelets from her wrist—the LSU one and the gold snake bracelet, both gifts from Joe. She set them down gently next to the stove, then pulled his house key off her keyring and placed it beside the bracelets.

"I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff," she said without looking at him. "Please get Sarah to put it in the mail. Or not." She picked up her bag. "I'll get your stuff to you when I get home. It'll be a while."

She walked past him without looking, past the stove where the gumbo still sat cooling, past the table she'd set for two.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, and Joe was alone with the smell of gumbo and the sound of his own breathing.

* * *

Joe stood in his kitchen for a long time after the door closed, staring at the counter where Riley had left the bracelets and his house key. The gold snake bracelet caught the light, the same one he'd given her on impulse because it reminded him of her—wild and beautiful and impossible to ignore.

The LSU bracelet sat beside it, the one he'd given her during his first visit to New Orleans. She'd worn them both every day since. Now they sat on his granite counter like abandoned pieces of jewelry, stripped of all the meaning they'd carried.

The smell of gumbo filled the kitchen, rich and warm and everything he'd needed but couldn't accept. Riley had spent hours making it, standing in his kitchen trying to bring comfort into his life while he sat in the next room willing her to disappear.

And now she had.

Joe picked up the snake bracelet, the metal warm from Riley's wrist. He could picture her hands as she'd removed it, careful and deliberate, the same way she did everything when she was trying not to fall apart. She'd been crying, but her voice had been steady. Strong.

Stronger than him.

The gumbo was still warm. Riley had made enough to feed them for days, the way she always did, like she was planning to stay, planning to take care of him. Joe ladled some into a bowl and sat at the table she'd set for two.

It was perfect. Of course it was. Riley cooked the way she did everything else—with complete attention, with love, with the kind of care that made you feel seen. The flavors were exactly right, complex and comforting, tasting like New Orleans and family and home.

Joe ate mechanically, each bite a reminder of what he'd just thrown away. On the third spoonful, he had to stop. His throat was too tight to swallow.

He pushed the bowl away and looked around his kitchen. Everything was exactly the same as it had been this morning, but it felt different. Empty. The turntable in the living room that he'd bought so Riley would want to come back. The plants on the windowsill that she'd brought over one weekend, claiming his house needed "something alive."

All evidence of a life they'd been building together. All evidence of what he'd just destroyed.

Joe's phone rang. Mark's name on the screen.

"How's the recovery going?" Mark's voice was brisk, businesslike.

"Fine." Joe's voice came out rougher than expected.

"Good. Listen, I've been thinking about your image rehabilitation strategy. We need to start positioning you for the comeback narrative. Maybe some interviews about your dedication, your work ethic..."

Joe listened to Mark outline plans for his future, his brand, his career. Everything that was supposed to matter. Everything he'd just chosen over Riley.

"Sounds good," Joe said when Mark paused for a response.

"Great. And Joe? I know this year's been tough, but you're making the right choices. Staying focused. The distraction stuff is behind you now."

The distraction stuff. That's what they called Riley. That's what they'd convinced him she was.

"Yeah," Joe said quietly. "It is."

After Mark hung up, Joe sat in his quiet house with a bowl of cooling gumbo and two bracelets on his counter. He'd gotten what he wanted. Space to focus on his recovery. Space to rebuild his career without worrying about headlines or speculation or the way loving someone complicated everything.

So why did it feel like he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life?

Joe picked up the snake bracelet again, remembering the day he'd bought it. He'd been walking past a jewelry store and seen it in the window, and something about it had made him think of Riley immediately. The way it curved and twisted, beautiful and unpredictable. He'd bought it without thinking, just because he wanted to see her face when he gave it to her.

She'd lit up when she opened the box. Not because it was expensive or flashy, but because he'd thought of her. Because he'd seen something and wanted to share it with her.

Now it sat on his counter next to cold gumbo and the echoes of everything he'd just lost.

Joe went upstairs to his bedroom, the one Riley had shared with him dozens of times. Her pillow still smelled like her shampoo. There were still bobby pins on his nightstand, a hair tie around the lamp base, a book she'd been reading face-down on the dresser.

Evidence that she'd been here. Evidence that this had been real.

Joe lay down on his side of the bed and stared at the empty space where Riley should have been. The house was completely quiet now—no humming from the kitchen, no music playing softly from the living room, no Riley talking to herself as she worked through a melody.

Just silence. The kind of silence he'd thought he wanted.

This was what he'd chosen. This was what he'd said he needed.

So why did it feel like the worst kind of punishment?

* * *

Joe woke up to silence.

No humming from the kitchen. No coffee brewing. No Riley padding around in his t-shirt, making the house feel alive.

Just the hollow quiet of a house that felt too big and too empty.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, last night feeling like a bad dream. Had he really ended things with Riley while she was cooking dinner for him?

The pressure from his team. The headlines. The feeling that loving her was too complicated when everything else in his life was falling apart.

But lying here now, Joe couldn't remember why any of that had mattered more than her.

He dragged himself downstairs and stopped short at the kitchen doorway. The gumbo sat on the stove, congealed and cold. A full pot of food she'd spent hours making for him, abandoned when he'd destroyed everything between them.

The bracelets were still on the counter where she'd left them. The LSU one he'd given her that first weekend in New Orleans. The snake bracelet he'd bought on impulse because it reminded him of her. She'd worn them every day since, and now they sat there like discarded promises.

Joe picked up the snake bracelet, the metal cold in his palm. Last night, he'd convinced himself he was setting them both free. That she deserved better than someone who couldn't handle the pressure of loving her publicly. That he needed space to rebuild himself.

This morning, it felt like the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

Riley had flown across the country to take care of him. Had cooked his favorite meal. Had tried to connect with him while he sat on his couch feeling sorry for himself and letting Mark and Bill and the whole fucking world get in his head when normally he never cared about the bullshit.

She'd been nothing but patient and loving, and he'd repaid that by ending their relationship in his kitchen while she was literally stirring gumbo she'd made for him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Joe's phone was already in his hand before he'd consciously decided to reach for it. His fingers moved across the keyboard faster than his brain could catch up.

I fucked up

He hit send and immediately felt a small spark of hope. Riley would understand. She'd see that he'd been overwhelmed and scared and made a terrible mistake. They could fix this.

But minutes passed with no response. An hour passed with no response.

Joe typed again, more desperate now:

Can I come to you? Let me make this right

He watched the message sit there, the sending indicator spinning. Then it disappeared entirely.

Not delivered.

The reality hit him like ice water. Riley had blocked him. She'd actually blocked his number.

Joe stared at his phone, panic rising in his chest. Last night he'd thought he was making a hard but necessary choice. This morning he realized he'd just destroyed the best thing in his life because he'd been too scared and too prideful to let someone love him through the worst of it.

And now she was gone.

He scrolled through his contacts and found Pete's number. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard before he typed:

Pete I fucked up and I want to make this right

The response came back within minutes:

Brother I love you but that's my girl and you can't make this right right now. She flew across the country to take care of you and you broke her heart. She's devastated. You need to give her space and figure out what you actually want before you try to fix anything.

Joe stared at the message, feeling completely cut off from Riley, and it was entirely his own doing.

* * *

Riley made it to the end of Joe's driveway before the tears came.

She stood on the sidewalk waiting for her car, hands shaking as she tried to hold herself together, and finally let herself fall apart. Three weeks of worrying about him. Hours of cooking for him. Flying across the country on no sleep because she thought he needed her.

And he'd just... ended it. Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

When the car pulled up, Riley slid into the backseat and pressed her forehead against the cool window, crying ugly sobs that came from somewhere deep in her chest. She'd known something was wrong, had felt him pulling away for weeks, but she'd convinced herself it was just the injury, just the recovery, just the pressure.

Not that he'd already given up on them.

The drive to the airport was a blur. Riley sat in the back of the car she'd called, staring out the window while the driver navigated through Cincinnati traffic. She called Pete from the backseat, her voice still thick with tears.

"Riley?" Pete's voice was immediately concerned. "What happened?"

"He broke up with me." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, like she was reading them from a script.

Silence on the other end. Then: "What!?"

"Joe. He broke up with me. He said he couldn't do this anymore. Us. The relationship."

"Jesus, Riley. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"No." The honesty surprised her. "I'm really not okay."

"Do you want me to come get you? I can fly to Cincinnati—"

"I'm flying back." Riley paid the driver and grabbed her bag, moving on autopilot. "I just... I need to get out of here now."

"Okay. Text me your flight info. I'll pick you up."

Riley hung up and made her way through the airport, each step feeling like she was walking through quicksand. Everything felt surreal, like she was watching someone else's life fall apart.

On the plane, she stared out the window and tried to process what had just happened. Joe had been distant, yes. Cold, yes. But she'd thought it was temporary. She'd thought if she just showed up, if she just loved him enough, if she just reminded him of what they had together...

But he didn't want what they had together. He'd made that clear.

Riley pulled out her phone and scrolled through their old text messages again, looking for signs she'd missed. The conversations that had gotten shorter and shorter. The calls that became less frequent. The way he'd stopped asking about her shows, stopped sharing details about his recovery.

He'd been checking out for weeks. She'd just been too stubborn to see it.

* * *

 Pete was waiting for her at baggage claim in Nashville, and Riley fell into his arms the moment she saw him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, holding her while she cried again. "I'm so fucking sorry."

They drove to the hotel in silence, Pete occasionally reaching over to squeeze her hand. When they pulled up to the Nashville hotel, Riley looked at the building—another city, another show—and felt nothing.

"You want me to stay?" Pete asked.

Riley shook her head. "I just want to sleep."

But sleep didn't come. Riley lay in her hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the evening. Joe's face when he told her he couldn't do this anymore. The way he'd stepped back when she'd tried to reach for him. The empty look in his eyes, like he'd already left her long before she'd walked out his door.

She thought about the gumbo cooling on his stove. The bracelets she'd left on his counter. The key she'd returned like she was checking out of a hotel.

A few hours ago, she'd been planning to spend the evening with him. Now she was alone in a hotel room in Nashville, single, with no idea how everything had gone so wrong so fast.

Riley rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow, letting herself cry until there was nothing left. Tomorrow she'd have to face the guys, had to get through soundcheck and pretend she could perform. Tomorrow she'd have to figure out how to sing love songs when her heart was broken.

Tomorrow she'd have to start forgetting Joe Burrow.

But tonight, she just let herself grieve for what they'd lost.

* * *

Riley woke up to her phone buzzing on the nightstand. Multiple notifications. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her head pounding.

Two texts from Joe:

I fucked up

Can I come to you? Let me make this right

Riley stared at the messages for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen. Part of her wanted to respond, wanted to call him, wanted to hear him say he was sorry and he'd made a mistake.

But a bigger part of her, the part that was tired of fighting for someone who didn't want to fight for her, deleted the messages without responding.

She found Joe's contact and hit block.

He'd made his choice. Now she was making hers.

Riley opened the band group chat and typed:

Not coming to soundcheck today. I'll be at the venue for the show. Taking Daylight off the setlist. Pete can fill you in.

She hit send and turned her phone face down on the nightstand. She couldn't face their questions right now, couldn't explain what had happened until she'd processed it herself.

* * *

Riley arrived at Nissan Stadium three hours before showtime, sunglasses on despite being indoors. She'd managed to shower and put on clothes, but that was about the extent of her functioning.

Jenny was waiting in the hallway outside her dressing room, concern written all over her face. "Riley, honey—"

"Don't." Riley's voice was hoarse. "Please. Not yet."

She disappeared into her dressing room and locked the door behind her. The space was set up exactly like always—her stage clothes laid out, makeup station ready, flowers from the venue. Everything normal except for the fact that her world had completely fallen apart twelve hours ago.

Riley sank into the chair in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, hair that she'd barely managed to run a brush through. She looked like exactly what she was—someone who'd been crying all night.

Her phone had been buzzing all day. Messages from the band group chat, from friends who'd seen her cryptic text about soundcheck, from Gwen wanting to know what was wrong. She'd ignored all of it.

A knock on her door. "Riley?" Pete's voice. "Can I come in?"

Riley unlocked the door and let him in. Pete took one look at her and pulled her into a hug.

"Fuck. Come here." He pulled her into a hug.

"I don't know if I can do this, Pete." Riley's voice cracked against his shoulder.

"The show?"

Riley nodded, fresh tears starting. "I can't get up there and sing when everything feels like a lie." She pressed her hands to her face.

Another knock. Andy and Daniel appeared in the doorway, their faces grim.

"We heard," Andy said simply. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. I don't need anything." Riley wiped her eyes. "I just need to get through tonight."

Daniel sat down on her other side. "We changed the setlist. Moved some things around, took out the slow stuff."

"And Daylight's definitely out," Andy added. "Pete told us."

Riley nodded gratefully. The thought of singing that song—their song, the one she'd written about Joe—made her stomach turn.

Jenny appeared with a makeup artist. "We need to start getting you ready," she said gently.

For the next two hours, Riley sat in the chair while people worked around her. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. The makeup artist had to keep retouching her eyes every time fresh tears fell. She answered when spoken to, moved when directed, but inside she felt hollow and empty.

"Five minutes to places," Mara called from the doorway.

Riley looked at herself in the mirror. The makeup artist had performed a miracle—she looked like herself again, polished and stage-ready. But her eyes still held all the pain.

"I can't do this," she whispered, panic starting to rise in her chest. "I can't go out there."

"Yes, you can." Pete was suddenly beside her, gripping her shoulders. "Look at me, Riley. You can do this. You've been doing this since you were sixteen. It's muscle memory."

"But—"

"No buts. You're Riley fucking Carter. You get up on that stage and you sing your heart out, because that's who you are. That's what you do."

Andy appeared in the doorway. "We've got you," he said. "All night. We've got you."

Daniel nodded from beside Andy. "Whatever you need out there."

The crowd was already roaring. Sixty thousand people who'd come to see them, who'd bought tickets months ago, who had no idea that Riley's world had imploded.

"Places, everyone!"

Riley stood up on shaking legs. Jenny handed her a bottle of water. "Just get through the first song," she said quietly. "After that, it'll come back to you."

Riley nodded, not trusting her voice. They climbed into the golf cart that would take them to the stage, her bandmates surrounding her. As they drove through the backstage corridors, Riley felt the tears start again.

"Shit," she whispered, pressing her hands to her eyes. "I'm gonna ruin my makeup."

Pete reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're gonna be fine."

The cart stopped at the stage entrance. Riley could hear the crowd already cheering, could feel the vibration of thousands of people through the concrete walls.

The lights went down in the stadium. The crowd erupted.

The stage lights blazed to life. Sixty thousand people screamed her name.

Riley wiped her eyes one last time, took a deep breath, and stepped into the light.

The pain was still there, would always be there. But for the next two hours, she was exactly who she needed to be.

She was Riley Carter, and she had a show to do.

* * *

X:

@RamblesUpdates: "NASHVILLE WAS INSANE. Riley just delivered the most ELECTRIC performance I've ever seen. Pure rock and roll. No ballads, just pure energy and rage and it was EVERYTHING 🔥🔥🔥"

@musicfan_sarah: "wait did anyone else notice they didn't play Daylight? That's been the closer for every show this tour..."

@concertgoer615: "Riley Carter just proved she's a ROCK STAR. That wasn't a pop show, that was straight up arena rock. I've never heard Ego sound that heavy live"

@RileyCarterFan: "guys I'm worried... she looked like she'd been crying during the first song but then she just UNLEASHED. most powerful performance I've ever seen from her"

@BengalsFan2024: "anyone else notice Riley's bracelets are gone? She's worn that LSU one and the gold snake one EVERY show this tour 👀"

@jewelrywatch: "Riley Carter's signature bracelets are MIA at tonight's show. She's literally never performed without them since the tour started"

@musicjourno: "The Rambles just played the angriest, most cathartic show I've seen all year. Riley Carter channeled whatever she's going through into pure musical fury. Incredible to witness."

Instagram:

@concertphotographer posted a photo of Riley mid-scream during "Mad Woman" with the caption: "When artists use pain as fuel. This is what real rock and roll looks like. @rileycarter absolutely destroyed Nashville tonight. #TheRambles #Nashville"

Top comments: "She looks like she's exorcising demons" "This energy was UNREAL in person" "Something's different about her tonight and I'm here for it"

@musicfestivalfan posted a video of the crowd during "Ego": "The ENTIRE stadium was losing their minds. Riley had us in the palm of her hand for 2 hours straight. No slow songs, no breaks, just pure ENERGY"

TikTok:

@concertgirl23 posted: "POV: Riley Carter just delivered the performance of her LIFE while clearly going through it 💔 The pain in her voice during the first song... then she turned it into pure POWER #TheRambles #Nashville #RileyCarter"

@bandtok posted a side-by-side: "Riley's usual bracelet stack vs tonight in Nashville 👀 Those bracelets haven't left her wrist all tour until tonight..."

@musictheorytok: "Music theory moment: The Rambles completely changed their setlist tonight. Removed every single ballad, added heavier arrangements to songs that are usually softer. Riley's going THROUGH it and channeling it into the music 🎸"

@fanaccount_rambles: "y'all I was at the airport today and I THINK I saw Riley and Pete and she looked... not okay. Like she'd been crying. And now this show happened... I'm concerned 😭"

Reddit:

r/TheRambles: "Nashville Show - Did anyone else feel like something was off?"

Top comment: "Off? That was the best show I've ever seen them play. Riley was absolutely UNHINGED in the best way. Pure rock goddess energy."

Reply: "No I mean like... she seemed upset? During the first song she looked like she was about to cry, then suddenly it was like she became a different person. And no Daylight? That's literally their biggest hit."

Reply: "Also did anyone notice her bracelets were gone? She's worn those every single show this tour. Something definitely happened."

r/nfl: "Did Joe Burrow and Riley Carter break up?"

"Purely speculation but she had a weird show tonight, took off songs she usually plays, wasn't wearing the bracelets she always wears (including an LSU one), and someone said they saw her crying at the airport. Neither of them have posted anything about each other lately..."

"They never even confirmed they were dating officially though"

"Bro the LSU bracelet being gone is actually suspicious. Why would she stop wearing that unless..."

"Y'all are reading too much into this. Maybe she just wanted to switch up the setlist."

"Nah something's definitely up. That performance tonight was someone working through some FEELINGS."

Instagram and X trending:

#RileyCarter #TheRamblesNashville #DaylightMIA #RileysBracelets #JoeAndRiley

@PopCrave: "Riley Carter delivers emotional powerhouse performance in Nashville, noticeably removing all ballads from setlist including hit single 'Daylight.' Fans speculate about her relationship status after missing signature bracelets and raw emotional performance."

@EntertainmentTonight: "The Rambles' Nashville show was unlike any other on their tour. @RileyCarter's intensely emotional performance has fans asking questions. Full story on our website."

@TMZ: "RILEY CARTER BREAKS DOWN? Singer's Nashville performance leaves fans wondering what's behind the emotional show. Plus - where are her signature bracelets? 👀"

@DeuxMoi: "Heard from a little birdie that a certain rock star and football player are OVER. She was spotted looking very upset at Nashville airport yesterday. The show last night confirmed it - pure heartbreak channeled into an incredible performance 💔"

Author's Note 2: I know this chapter is heavy. I know it hurts. But here's what I want you to remember: love like theirs doesn't just disappear. Sometimes people make terrible decisions when they're scared and broken. Sometimes we push away the very thing that could heal us because we don't think we deserve it.

Joe and Riley's story may be ending here, but their love? That's the kind that changes you forever. Riley taught Joe that it's okay to feel deeply. Joe showed Riley what it means to be truly seen.

And sometimes, that's enough. Sometimes, loving someone - even when it ends - is still the most beautiful thing you'll ever do.

Thank you for loving them with me. Thank you for going on this journey. And remember: every ending is also a beginning. Sequel soon.

[rillils]

Somebody pls correct me if I'm wrong, but one thing I noticed while rewatching CATFA is how, in the first part of the movie, Bucky is always the one to initiate physical touch with Steve -- while in the second part, the opposite is true.

Allow me to elaborate.

I hardly need to mention alley!Bucky throwing his arm around Steve's neck and pulling him into his side, tugging him along towards "the future". Shortly after that, there's this blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, when he catches Steve before Steve tries to enlist again:

Bucky could have simply called his name to get Steve's attention, but he chooses to accompany that with a gentle touch to Steve's back instead.

[ which is such a tiny detail, but I believe it's worth mentioning because: 1) I'm a sucker for little gestures that are seemingly irrelevant but really speak to how comfortable the characters are with each other; and 2) in the context of Steve being partially deaf, something like this makes me think of a younger Bucky, learning early on that touch was much more likely to get him Steve's attention than vocal cues alone, especially in crowded/loud places where it would have been difficult to pick up Bucky's voice amongst the noise. And he's so used to it after all these years, that he does it unthinkingly, sometimes even when it's not necessary. ] [ but that would need its own post I guess sdksjdk ]

And then, of course, there's their goodbye hug. And the way Bucky makes a point of walking back just to wrap Steve in his arms one last time, putting his weight into it and hooking his chin over Steve's shoulder just to lock their bodies together for a moment, well that is just, yeah. *screams*

But once Steve gets the serum? Once he shows up in Kreischberg to rescue Bucky, all buffed up and a whole head taller, with no backup except for his own muscles and the power of love? From here on out, it's always going to be Steve reaching for Bucky first.

It's Steve pulling him up from the lab table, Steve cupping Bucky's face in his hand, Steve hanging back and reaching his arm out to Bucky when Bucky is visibly struggling to keep up with him. Steve grabbing Bucky to help him hoist himself over the railing, Steve holding onto Bucky's arm and eventually, reluctantly letting go of him, watching on with anguish written all over his face.

It's Steve clapping Bucky on the back when they've finally made their way back to camp. Steve, once more, resting his hand on Bucky's shoulder at the end of the bar scene.

There's a clear turning point somewhere in here, after which Bucky never initiates physical contact anymore. Not on screen, anyway.

Which could mean nothing. But I love to read too much into things, and I just thought it might be interesting to take a closer look at this.

I'm probably projecting my own issues on him here, but Bucky has always struck me as the kind of person who tends to isolate himself when he's hurting. You know, the kind who'd rather just curl up somewhere quiet, away from everyone else, to nurse their wounds in private, only resurfacing when they've got all those emotions back "under control", bottled up inside where they belong.

For one, this would tie in with the model of masculinity Bucky would have been fed since he was a child. A real man is strong, a real man is a provider, a real man suffers quietly and never breathes a word of it to anyone; he doesn't bleed all over his loved ones, he keeps his shit together and fixes what's broken, no fuss.

And indeed, we see Bucky do this with Steve all time. He's always putting on a brave face with Steve, always doing his darndest to cover up his own fears and insecurities with a smile, a joke, a casual shrug, trying to shoulder the weight of his pain alone, even though Steve can see right through him most of the time.

Which is why it wouldn't surprise me if, at least in the early stages post-rescue, Bucky were to withdraw into himself. Put some distance between himself and Steve while he tries to come to terms with everything he'd been through, until he feels a little less brittle, a little less like he'll come apart with the first strong breeze. Until he feels solid ground under his feet again.

He wouldn't do so consciously -- but retreating into old coping mechanisms, no matter how unhealthy, is an easy trap to fall into, and at some point the behavior becomes so ingrained into you that it's your first natural response. The little bubble of security you turn to. And that's hard to un-learn. And when Steve rescues him from the hydra facility, Bucky is grappling with so many painful things at once, that he just needs something, somewhere safe to retreat into.

In this sense, the lack of physical touch on Bucky's part, when he used to be so easily tactile in his relationship with Steve, so comfortable with being all up in Steve's space, with tugging Steve into his space, would be one of the most blatant signs of the pain he carries within.

Bucky feels unmoored, displaced. Everything in his world has been turned upside down, and nothing is the way it was supposed to be anymore.

He's been through hell, and he probably thought he was going to die in there, tied to that cold slab of metal in a dark bowel of a room, too out of it to even remember where he was. But not only has he come out the other side somehow, he now has to deal with the aftermath of what Zola has done to him. And he has no fucking idea what that was. All he knows is that he's been changed, and he can feel it, and that's fucking terrifying.

Steve was supposed to be home safe, but he's out here instead, running straight towards certain death with open arms.

It used to be just the two of them in their own codependent little bubble, but now Steve's world is rapidly expanding, and everybody wants a piece of him.

[ A quick tangent: I think this shot from the movie paints the perfect picture in that respect.

It kinda speaks for itself, doesn't it? Steve, at the heart of the crowd, the center of everybody's attention, and all these people - even the very same people who laughed and jeered at him and called him Tinkerbell just a week ago - reaching for him, grabbing for him, cheering for their newfound hero. And Bucky?

Bucky's right behind Steve. His shadow. His double. Quiet. The brittle smile already gone from his lips and from his eyes. Fading into the background.

It's not that he minds that Steve's in the spotlight. Hell, he pushed Steve in the spotlight ("Let's hear it for Captain America," was it?), and by doing so he also spared Steve from facing the consequences of his insubordination, because who the fuck would punish a universally celebrated war hero, right? And besides, how could he watch Steve's six if he were standing anywhere else?

But.

But some place deep in his heart hurts. ]

Imagine how he must feel, watching Steve be the best version of himself that he can be, while Bucky himself is falling apart, and doing a poor job of hiding it. How scared he must be, feeling the change churn inside him like some sort of poison, wondering how long before he'll turn into a monster just like Schmidt did. How soon before he starts shedding his skin, before the horror lurking underneath it is revealed to him and to everyone around him?

Hearing Steve confirm that this is Permanent, that the serum Amplifies -- and what if it latched onto the ugliest parts buried deep inside Bucky, and amplified those instead of what good he had in him?

Perhaps this is one more reason why he hesitates to touch Steve, to get any closer than necessary: the fear slowly eating away at him. The doubt slithering under his skin. Is he even still human? Was he truly saved or was it already too late? Does he still deserve a place in Steve's life? Does Steve even need him at all, now?

The feelings of inadequacy. Him, chewed up and spat out by the war, worn thin, made bitter, made angry, made into something twisted and wrong, juxtaposed with Steve, glowing, golden Steve, with his eagerness and his ideals and his strength and his big, pure heart.

And you know what makes my heart ache? Despite all of this, you can still see Bucky gravitating towards Steve all the time. Leaning towards him even when their bodies don't touch. Like he longs to be close again, but he's not sure how. Not yet.

Which is not to say that he never gets past this stage. After all, this is only what we see on screen, and there's a whole fucking lot that the movie doesn't show us - but what the hell, we can fill in those gaps ourselves. And where I'm concerned, imagining the moment when Bucky finally breaks down in Steve's arms, when he lets Steve hold him and finally allows himself to hold on to him too, like he's needed to do for so long, is as heartbreaking as it is satisfying.

Now, I know I've already rambled on forever, but there's another angle to this that I'd like to look at.

On the matter of flipping the initial dynamic presented between them...

We know how, from the very start, Steve and Bucky are written to be each other's mirror image: identical and opposite at once.

They go through the same metamorphosis, but where Steve actively takes part in Erskine's experiment, Bucky is dragged into Zola's lab against his will. Steve gets to choose; Bucky is forced into it without so much as a warning.

Steve's transformation is clear and instantly visible, and the camera pans over his golden body awash with light, as he sighs in relief, no longer in pain. Bucky's change is subtle, sneaky; it creeps up on him from the inside, unknown, undescribed, foreign, unnatural; a feeling like a chill up his spine. He's not aware of how much, nor in what ways, his body has been changed, until he starts to see the signs. Until the symptoms start to show, like a disease.

When we see him in the aftermath of his own transformation, Bucky doesn't look like a powerful demi-god ready to sprint after the bad guy, like Steve did. Bucky is doubled over in pain. He's weak, he can barely stumble after Steve, hunched over, occasionally holding his stomach, and there's a recent scrape on his cheekbone, a spot of dried blood, like they had to brutally subdue him before they could get him strapped down to the table Steve found him on.

Where Steve is a miracle of science, Bucky is the product of a waking nightmare.

CATFA plays with this "opposites" theme a lot, going so far as to completely flip over the dynamic between Bucky and Steve in every possible way.

In the beginning, Bucky is introduced as Steve's protector, his good and caring friend who rescues him from bullies, who tries to talk some sense into him, who sees him and supports him ("You've got nothing to prove"), who wants to keep him safe.

But after Steve gets the serum, their roles are reversed. Suddenly, Steve is the protector to Bucky's dude-in-distress. Steve is the strong righteous man, the knight in shining armor rescuing Bucky from the people who mean him harm.

In the beginning, we constantly see Bucky seeking Steve out. It's Bucky finding him in the alley, as though he could sense that Steve's in trouble; it's Bucky talking him into going to the fair, and later finding Steve when Steve strays from the group. It's Bucky coming to Steve for a last goodbye, walking back just to hug him, always reaching out first.

But later on, this pattern is, again, reversed. Steve comes to Bucky's rescue. Steve seeks Bucky out at the pub, when Bucky has deliberately isolated himself from the newly-formed team. Steve takes that first step and asks him, dressing it in a half-joke, if Bucky will stay by his side.

It's like there's always one of them chasing after the other, and they only ever come together for a brief moment, just to be ripped apart again.

And the one time they're reaching for each other at the same time, right there at the end? They fail.

They're not allowed to touch. The story won't let them.

They try, desperately try, but they literally just… can't reach.

How's that for some star-crossed lovers, huh.

Finally, I just think it's fucking hilarious how this significant shift only happens after Steve hits his magical growth spurt and becomes, visually, the ideal standard of cis straight masculinity. Once he's finally A Real Man(TM) both on the inside and especially on the outside - someone that all women will desire and all men will admire. And I say it's fucking hilarious because:

1) the hypermasculine macho man the writers were probably hoping to write is actually just a really sweet, awkward guy who barely shows any interest in the girls thrown at him, and whose most meaningful, most tender relationship is with another guy. oops

2) by applying this heteronormative lens to Steve's relationship with Bucky, making them each other's yin and yang, the hero and his damsel, the typically masculine role vs the typically feminine role, actively pursuing vs being pursued, the writers actually played themselves! 'Cause even while they refuse to allow Bucky to be Steve's official love interest, the narrative that they built with their own hands is literally out here pushing the idea of Steve as, well, Steve as Bucky's strong alpha male, for lack of a better word

3) in a movie in which Steve is (quite forcefully) pursued by two separate women, the only person Steve actively pursues is another man.

See? Fucking hilarious, dude.

[thetidesthatturn]

Petals in Ink - Part Two

Pairing: non-idol florist Park Seonghwa x tattooist female reader

Warnings: use of Y/N, alcohol use, smoking, smut, switchy/needy hwa, throat fucking, unprotected sex (wrap it!!!), head f&m receiving, disgustingly fluffy aftercare - list is not exhaustive, read at own risk

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent any similarities to real events/people

Tag list: @idknunsadly

Part One

The next morning, you’re shrugging on your jacket when your phone buzzes.

One new message.

Seonghwa

Coffee is on me again—just come to my store.

You stare at it for a second longer than necessary. Not because you’re surprised.

Because you’re not.

Of course he’d remember your routine. Of course he’d offer. That’s just… him. Thoughtful. Intentional. The kind of man who feeds you kimchi stew and walks you to your cab. The kind who wipes soap suds from your nose and kisses you like he means it.

You smile—small, involuntary, but real.

And maybe, for once, you don’t feel the need to hide it.

When you push open the door to his shop, the bell chimes softly above you.

It’s early, but the space already smells like sunlit citrus and something green—fresh-cut stems, damp earth, morning air. It’s quieter than your studio at this hour. Softer.

Seonghwa looks up from behind the counter, a takeaway tray resting beside him with two iced americanos already waiting.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and that same smile—the one that made you say yes in the first place—spreads across his face.

“Morning,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like yesterday happened, and nothing needs to be explained.

“Morning, and thank you,” you murmur, fingers curling around the cold cup. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Seonghwa tilts his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I wanted to.”

You glance around, coffee momentarily forgotten in your hand.

It’s your first time stepping into his store, and it’s even more beautiful than you imagined.

Soft morning light spills through tall front windows, catching the dew still clinging to petals and leaves. Every surface is carefully curated—wooden shelves lined with vases of wildflowers and single-stemmed roses, bundles of dried lavender hanging from ceiling hooks.

There are hand-painted signs in delicate script, labeled trays of pressed flowers, and a small section in the back where potted herbs sit like quiet secrets.

It doesn’t feel like a shop. It feels like a living thing.

“Wow,” you breathe, eyes drifting to a collection of pale yellow tulips arranged in a tall glass vase. “It’s… incredible.”

He smiles, stepping closer, one hand slipping into the pocket of his apron. “You’ve seen it from the outside for a while now.”

“It’s different from the inside.”

His gaze lingers on you then, steady. “Most things are.”

You look away, biting back a smile, heart doing that thing again—tripping over itself.

He watches you quietly for a moment, then nods toward the back. “I was just about to unbox some new deliveries.”

You follow him a few steps toward the back, but pause just short of the counter, glancing at the clock on your phone.

“Ah—shit. I’ve got a client at ten. I should get going.”

He stops, halfway to a crate of fresh stock. “Of course.” His smile softens, unbothered. “I’ll save the tour of the back rooms for another day.”

You hesitate a second longer, fingers brushing the strap of your bag. And then—almost without thinking—you pull out your iPad.

“I… actually meant to show you something.”

He tilts his head slightly as you swipe it open, unlocking the screen, opening Procreate. You scroll past rough outlines and client drafts until you find it—the sketch. The one that happened before you even realised what your hands were doing.

You turn the screen toward him. “I drew this yesterday, had some free time after a client.”

It’s the bouquet he gave you. Not exact—more impression than replica. But it feels like it. The soft tilt of the ranunculi. The gentle sweep of eucalyptus. The unnamed lilac bloom rendered in muted strokes, fading at the edges like a memory.

Seonghwa steps closer, eyes fixed on the screen. He doesn’t speak at first.

Then—softly. “You remembered them this clearly?”

You shrug, suddenly shy. “Couldn’t stop thinking about them.”

You don’t mean just the flowers. But he hears it. You can tell by the shift in his eyes.

“They’re beautiful,” he says, voice low. “You made them feel like more than they were.”

“They already were,” you say quietly.

A moment of silence washes over you both.

Then, before you can chicken out. “I was thinking of turning it into a flash piece. Maybe even tattooing it.”

His eyes flick up to yours, surprised. “On you?”

You nod.

The moment hangs.

“You’d wear my flowers on your skin,” he murmurs, like it’s not just a statement. Like it’s a question of something deeper.

You swallow. “Maybe.”

He smiles, and it’s different this time. Softer. A little stunned. A little moved.

“I’d be honoured,” he says.

And for a second, that tiny shop feels like the centre of the universe. But the spell breaks as you glance at the time again.

“I really have to go.”

He walks you to the door without asking.

And as you step out into the soft noise of morning traffic, you hear him call after you—

“Text me if you do it.”

You turn over your shoulder, already smiling. “You’ll be the first to know.”

You barely get one foot inside the studio before you’re ambushed.

“There she is!” Nari shouts, standing dead centre in the front room like she’s been lying in wait.

“You didn’t open,” Ryu adds, appearing from behind the desk with a wild look in his eyes. “You. Didn’t. Open. You’re never late. Not even when you were literally concussed that one time.”

“It was a mild concussion,” you mutter.

But it’s no use. They’ve seen you. They’ve clocked the direction you came from.

And now?

They’re circling.

“Did you kiss?” Nari demands.

“Did you fuck?” Ryu follows.

“Did you stay at his place? Is that his sweater? Why didn’t you text us?! We thought you’d been murdered or married and neither would’ve surprised me, frankly.”

“I texted last night!” you protest, dropping your bag onto the counter. “I said I got home safe!”

“One vague ‘made it back’ doesn’t count,” Ryu says, hands on hips. “You left us on a cliffhanger, babe. We were two seconds away from tracking your location and breaking in with a taser and a bottle of wine.”

Nari narrows her eyes, stepping in closer. “So?”

You cross your arms. “So what?”

“So what happened?” they both shout in unison.

You take a breath.

Then, slowly, casually, you reply, “We had dinner. He made kimchi stew. It was… good.”

Ryu groans. “Don’t you dare downplay this.”

Nari grabs your arm, deadly serious. “Did. You. Kiss.”

You hesitate for half a second too long.

Her jaw drops.

“Oh my god. You did.”

You shrug, failing miserably to hide the smile threatening your face. “Maybe.”

Ryu screams—screams—and collapses into a dramatic heap onto the client couch.

“I can’t breathe,” he whines. “She kissed him and didn’t text us. Do you understand how betrayed I feel right now?”

“He’s got you acting shy,” Nari marvels, mouth still open. “That’s so hot. Oh my god.”

You run a hand down your face. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

“You will,” Ryu says from the couch, peeking up. “We’re all you’ve got.”

And maybe that’s true.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’ve just finished cleaning down your station after your last client when you hear the soft click of your door easing open.

You don’t have to look up.

“Ryu.”

He glides in like a smug spectre, arms crossed dramatically, a wistful look on his face.

“I still can’t believe it,” he sighs. “Y/N. Kisses a boy. Our cold, ruthless, emotionally unavailable ink queen…” He trails his fingers over your supply cart like he’s in mourning. “Taken down by a man with soft sweaters and a stew pot.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird. My whole worldview has shifted. Up is down. Left is gay.”

“You are gay,” you point out.

He places a hand to his chest. “And I was so hoping he was too. I mean, have you seen his cheekbones? That jawline? That apron? It’s homophobic, honestly.”

Just then, Nari pops her head in, brow raised. “Are we still being dramatic about the kiss?”

Ryu gasps. “It wasn’t a kiss, Nari. It was a betrayal.”

Nari steps into the room, expression completely deadpan. “Let her have this. She probably has cobwebs down there.”

You choke on air. “I—excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “You’ve been emotionally constipated for years. This is good for you. A little… dusting out of the haunted house.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with both hands.

“She’s blushing,” Ryu whispers like it’s sacred.

You peek through your fingers. “I hate both of you.”

“Sure,” Nari says with a grin, “but now you’re a woman of passion. Who are we to stand in the way of destiny?”

“She’s gonna marry him,” Ryu adds, flopping dramatically into your guest chair. “I’m going to have to wear beige at your wedding.”

“Don’t you dare wear beige,” you mutter.

“See?” Nari grins, nudging your arm. “She’s already planning it.”

After a moment, Nari jolts so suddenly that you nearly drop your stencil binder. Her entire body straightens like she’s been struck by lightning, eyes going wide with a wild spark that can only mean trouble.

“Oo oo oooo!” she squeals, pointing directly at you. “I know what we’re doing tonight.”

Ryu sits up straighter, sensing a shift in the air. “Oh god. What?”

“Drinks!” Nari beams. “We haven’t gone out in ages, and this? This is celebration-worthy. Y/N kissed a man. A real one. With a functioning kitchen and plants.”

You blink. “Wait, why is that the qualifier?”

Nari ignores you entirely. “We’ll go to that bar downtown—the one with the neon snake in the window and cocktails that cost our dignity.”

Ryu gasps. “Midnight Bloom. Yes. Yes. I have an outfit already picked in my soul.”

“No.” You hold up both hands. “Nope. You two go. I have a date with a bath and my couch.”

“You always have a date with your couch,” Nari groans.

“And I like my couch. It doesn’t drag me to expensive places and make me flirt with strangers.”

“You already flirted with someone. You’re one of us now,” Ryu grins.

“It was barely flirting,” you argue. “It was domestic. It was soft. It was stew.”

“Exactly,” Nari says. “Which means you need balance. Come out. Get tipsy. Wear something tight and terrifying. Let strange men buy us overpriced drinks and tell us we’re intimidating.”

You shake your head, but Ryu’s already grabbing his phone. “I’m booking the booth. It’s happening.”

“I’m not—”

“Y/N.” Nari’s voice softens, the teasing dropping for just a second. “You’ve been working nonstop. No dating. No fun. No breaks. You deserve a night.”

You glance between them. You hate how they’re right. Even worse, you hate how the idea… doesn’t sound terrible.

A long sigh escapes you. “Fine.”

“YESSS!” they both shout in perfect sync.

And that’s how you end up in a bar in downtown Seoul.

The room pulses with low bass and warm light, neon casting a blush of magenta and blue across the walls. The air smells like lime and sugar, cut with the faint burn of spirits. Laughter, music, and the distant clink of glass surround you.

You’re in black—fitted, low-key, and a little dangerous. Nari’s gone full glam, hair up and eyeliner sharp enough to slice egos. Ryu’s in mesh and leather, living his best life.

You’re seated at a small table with your first drink already in hand.

And just like that—you remember.

How it feels to be out. To be alive. To let the night stretch wide in front of you, open-ended and sparkling with possibility.

You’re several shots deep when the buzz hits you full force—warm, heady, electric.

The lights in the bar blur slightly at the edges, the music vibrating through the soles of your boots. You slam another soju glass down on the sticky tabletop, nearly missing the coaster, and throw your head back in laughter as Ryu tells the story of how he once accidentally got mistaken for a backup dancer and ended up on stage at a club in Hongdae.

You’re wheezing, face hot, sides aching.

“Have a little fun, babe!” Ryu grins, leaning across the table with flushed cheeks and mischief in his eyes. He glances around the room, eyes picking out men who look available and to your taste.

“Oh, she’s already got a man,” Nari smirks, slamming her own glass down. “Look at her—won’t even look at another guy. Loyal as hell. Wife-coded.”

“I kissed him once!” you protest, laughing.

“And he fed you!” Nari cries, wiggling her eyebrows. “That’s commitment in my books.”

“Alright, alright,” you say, standing up and swaying slightly. “I’m going to the bathroom before this can continue and I end up agreeing to a spontaneous tattoo or something.”

“We support that,” Ryu calls after you, blowing a kiss.

By the time you return, something is off.

They’re too quiet. Or rather—giggly. Whispering over a phone, hunched like gossiping schoolkids caught in the act.

You narrow your eyes as you approach. “What did you do?”

Ryu straightens up fast, too fast. “Nothing!”

Nari grins like she just lit a match in a gasoline room. “Oh, you’ll see…”

Your stomach drops. “Oh no. What did you do?”

They glance at each other, lips twitching with poorly concealed satisfaction. Nari slides the phone face-down onto the table, the way someone does when they’ve sent a message they know they’ll regret—but also definitely won’t.

You snatch it up.

“Nope!” She lunges across the table, but you’re quicker.

You flip it over. And there it is.

A message to Seonghwa.

From your phone.

Guess who’s a little tipsy in a bar downtown? 💋🌼

Your soul briefly leaves your body.

“You texted him?!”

Ryu giggles into his glass. “We might’ve also added a cheeky ‘wish you were here’—but you’re welcome, honestly. This is the stuff of cinematic romance.”

“You’re drunk,” you say, deadpan.

Nari shrugs. “So are you.”

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes in your hand.

A message. From Seonghwa.

Seonghwa

I’ll be there in 15.

You freeze.

Ryu gasps. “He’s coming?!”

Nari’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god, it worked?!”

You slam the phone down. “You guys are actual menaces.”

But beneath the panic? There’s something fluttering in your chest.

A little wild.

A little nervous.

And completely, absolutely thrilled.

Your hands are shaking as you type the name of the bar.

Midnight Bloom. The one near the station. I’m in the back booth with friends.

The message sends with a quiet whoosh, and suddenly everything feels very real.

You drop your phone onto the table like it’s burning you and slide your head into your hands, groaning.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Ryu lets out a delighted gasp. “She’s panicking. She’s actually panicking. I’ve never seen this before.”

“She’s blushing,” Nari adds, poking your shoulder. “You look so cute when you’re scared of your own feelings.”

“I’m not scared, I just—he’s coming here!” you hiss, still half-buried in your hands. “To this bar. Where I’m wearing this ridiculously tight top, and I’ve had—what—six shots of soju?”

“Five and a half,” Ryu corrects, sipping his drink like a scandalous little gremlin. “You spilled the sixth when you got excited about the story of me falling off a stage.”

Nari leans in, grinning. “Babe. You’re fine. You look hot. You’re glowing. This is perfect.”

You peek at them between your fingers.

“You texted the man I just kissed last night to come to a bar where I’m tipsy, loud, and currently questioning the emotional choices that led me here.”

“And he still said yes,” Ryu beams. “Now that’s a green flag.”

“Unless he shows up and sees me like this and runs.”

“He won’t,” Nari says firmly, placing a hand over yours. “You don’t see it, but when you talk about him? It’s different. You like him.”

You stare at her. Then glance down at your drink. Then back at the entrance.

Your phone buzzes again.

Seonghwa

On my way in.

Your stomach drops.

You sit up straight, heart pounding in your throat.

Ryu clutches your hand dramatically. “This is your Cinderella moment. But like, tattooed and slightly drunk.”

Nari downs what’s left of her drink. “Look alive, bitch. Your flower boy’s here.”

And there he is.

You spot him the moment he steps through the door, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

You’re used to him looking soft. Gentle. Warm, like sunlit soil and the delicate things that grow from it. Aprons, linen shirts, hands dusted with pollen. The kind of beauty that settles in quietly.

But tonight?

Tonight he looks like a five-course meal and a sin you’re ready to commit twice.

All black. Form-fitting. A button-up tucked into dark jeans, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the first two buttons undone—just enough to reveal the faint dip of his collarbone and the silver glint of a chain. His hair is styled off his forehead, effortlessly honed. Polished. Dangerous.

He looks like a sharpened blade.

Your mouth might actually be watering.

Oh god—it is.

You subtly dab at your lips with a napkin as he scans the bar, and then—his eyes find yours. His expression softens instantly, and then the smallest smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

Ryu lets out a low whistle beside you. “If you don’t jump him, I will.”

Nari fans herself with a cocktail menu. “I take back what I said earlier. That man is not just soft. That’s ‘silk sheets and ruined reputations’ energy.”

You shoot them both a warning glare, but they’re already beaming as Seonghwa approaches your booth.

“Hi,” he says, eyes flicking to yours first before greeting your friends.

“Hi,” you echo, voice caught somewhere between stunned and oh no he’s hot-hot.

“I hope I’m not crashing anything.”

“Please,” Ryu grins, practically purring, “we were praying for this exact interruption. I’m Ryu.”

“Nari,” she adds, sticking out her hand. “And yes, we’re the meddling besties who texted you.”

Seonghwa shakes both their hands with a laugh. “I figured. I didn’t think the flower emoji was Y/N’s style.”

You groan and hide your face in your drink.

“You’re a vision, by the way,” Nari says, not even pretending to be subtle. “Has anyone ever told you you should be illegal?”

Ryu nods solemnly. “Criminal levels of attractive.”

Seonghwa smiles, a touch of pink colouring his ears, but his eyes are still on you. “Can I sit?”

You slide over without a word.

He slips into the booth beside you—close, but not too close. Warmth radiates from him like a second skin.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time, just for you.

And somehow, that quiet word in the middle of a loud, busy bar is the only thing you can hear.

You really should’ve known better.

You’ve seen them in action before—Ryu and Nari in full wingperson mode is a force of nature. But somehow, with Seonghwa seated beside you, their energy feels weaponised.

“And then,” Nari says, leaning over the table with a conspiratorial grin, “Y/N slammed the soju like it owed her rent.”

“She even smiled,” Ryu adds, eyes wide with faux wonder. “Smiled. I thought she was glitching.”

“She blushed,” Nari gasps, clutching her chest. “I almost called emergency services.”

“She was nervous,” Ryu nods. “It was so sexy. Like watching a cat walk into a room and pretend it meant to trip.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m right here.”

Seonghwa chuckles softly beside you, sipping from the drink Nari forced on him the moment he sat down. “I kind of like this,” he murmurs, just for you. “It’s cute. You’re… different with them.”

“She’s feral with us,” Ryu stage-whispers, and you genuinely consider crawling under the table.

“I need another drink,” you mumble, starting to slide out of the booth.

But before you can rise, Seonghwa gently touches your arm.

“I’ll get them,” he says, already standing. “What’s everyone having?”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

He smiles, easy and confident. “I want to.”

“A gentleman!” Nari squeals, kicking her heels against the booth like a teenager in a K-drama.

“Make mine a gin and tonic,” Ryu says, pointing a finger in the air like royalty. “With lime. Two limes, if he’s feeling flirty.”

“Whiskey sour for me,” Nari adds with a wink. “Also, tell the bartender I’m single.”

Seonghwa laughs softly, already committing their drinks to memory. Then he turns to you.

“And you?”

You hesitate, then murmur your go-to order, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

He just nods. “Got it.”

And then he’s gone—gliding through the crowd toward the bar like he belongs there. Confident, calm, all black everything.

You exhale like you’ve just come up for air.

Ryu leans in with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

“I hate you,” you say, already smiling.

“I accept that,” he shrugs. “But just look at him.”

Nari sighs dreamily. “He’s like if a love song was tall and wore cologne.”

You watch Seonghwa at the bar, framed in neon light, waiting for drinks with one hand in his pocket. Calm. Unshaken. Completely unfazed by your chaos.

You let out a small, breathless laugh.

Yeah. You’re screwed.

You don’t wait for the drinks to come.

The noise, the teasing, the warmth spreading beneath your skin—it’s too much. You slide out of the booth with a half-mumbled excuse and make your way toward the back of the bar, weaving through the crowd until the music fades behind a thick metal door and you’re pushing out into the cool night air of the smoking area.

It’s quiet out here. The air bites your flushed cheeks, the scent of smoke clinging faintly to the breeze.

You reach into your back pocket, pull out a slightly crushed packet of cigarettes, and tap one free. A flick of your lighter, a low inhale, and the familiar burn settles into your lungs.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air like a thought you’re not ready to say out loud.

The door creaks behind you. You don’t turn right away.

But then you hear his voice—soft, warm, cutting through the night like a familiar song.

“Not your thing?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Seonghwa stands a few feet away, framed by the doorway. The glow of the bar spills out behind him, painting the edges of his silhouette in gold.

He steps closer, hands in his pockets, his brow lifted just slightly—not judging. Just… curious.

You shrug, bringing the cigarette to your lips again. “Needed air.”

He tilts his head. “You okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. “They’re a lot.”

He laughs under his breath. “They’re perfect.”

“They’re menaces,” you mutter, taking another drag.

He watches you for a beat, then leans against the brick wall beside you. “You’re different out here.”

“Different how?”

“Quieter,” he says. “Still.”

You scoff. “That’s just code for ‘more tolerable.’”

“No,” he says gently. “Just… more you.”

You go still at that. The cigarette burns low between your fingers.

He glances down at your hand. “May I?”

You hesitate, then offer it to him. He takes a drag, easy, practiced, then passes it back—his fingers brushing yours.

The contact is brief, but it’s enough.

“Thanks,” he says, exhaling slowly.

“For the cigarette?”

He smiles at you, something quiet and sure. “For letting me find you.”

Then, he moves closer. His hand reaches up slowly, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. Tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is featherlight, but your heart stutters like it’s been struck.

Your breath falters.

And now, he’s right in front of you.

The cigarette still burns low between your fingers, forgotten as you drink him in—how the light from the bar spills across his features, how his eyes search yours like he’s listening for something you haven’t said yet.

Your chest rises and falls, breath unsteady. Erratic. He smells like wine, and woodsmoke, and that subtle floral note you’ve come to recognise as him.

His gaze drops to your lips.

That’s it. That’s the match to the fuse.

You drop the cigarette to the pavement, crushing it beneath your heel. Your hands are on him before you can think—fisting into the front of his shirt, dragging him to you.

Your voice is low. Rough. Needy.

“Seonghwa,” you breathe, “just fucking kiss me.”

His breath catches.

Then he’s moving.

His hands come up, one sliding to the back of your neck, the other to your waist, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he’s not holding you tight enough.

And then—he kisses you. Harder than last time. Hotter.

Like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, but didn’t know if he was allowed to want it.

His lips crush yours, your body colliding with his, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. Your fingers twist in his shirt, pulling him closer still, and he groans softly into your mouth like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs. It’s messy. Hungry. Less perfect, more real.

And fuck—it feels so good.

You kiss him like you mean it, like you’ve been aching for it. And he kisses you back like he’s not afraid to be devoured.

You stumble back into the bar, hand wrapped tightly around Seonghwa’s.

Your lipstick’s smudged. His hair is a little mussed. You’re both a little flushed, breathing just a little harder than before. But you don’t let go of him—not even as you weave through the crowd, not even when the neon lights catch every trace of what just happened on your face.

You reach the booth, cheeks still hot, and slide in without a word. Seonghwa follows, still composed, but his lips are redder now. His chain glints in the low light. You wonder if anyone else can tell.

Oh, they can.

Ryu narrows his eyes like a hawk. “And what were you two doing out there?”

Your eyes flick to him with a blank expression. “Smoking.”

“Smoking,” he repeats flatly.

“Yes.”

Nari sips her drink dramatically. “And what, exactly, were you smoking? Each other’s mouths?”

You glare at her. “Do you want me to leave again?”

“Not before you tell us everything,” Ryu hisses, leaning in like he’s about to conduct a televised interview. “Because you left here in a flurry of emotional avoidance and came back looking like you ate him for dessert.”

“She dragged him back,” Nari adds gleefully. “Like a hot little crime scene.”

Seonghwa chuckles under his breath beside you, sipping calmly from his drink like he didn’t just maul you in a back alley behind a bar.

You sink lower in your seat. “I hate you both.”

“Sure you do,” Ryu says sweetly. “Now, start from the beginning.”

You meet Seonghwa’s gaze beside you, a slow smile tugging at your lips.

He leans in just a touch, whispering, “You okay?”

You nod. More than okay.

And for now, that’s all they need to know.

~

The night winds down slowly, like the last track on a record.

You’re all pleasantly drunk; laughing a little louder, swaying a little more when you stand. Even Seonghwa is buzzed, cheeks faintly pink, his usually measured voice just the slightest bit looser. And he’s playing along with Ryu and Nari—really playing along. Matching Ryu’s sarcasm, indulging Nari’s wild stories, even teasing you gently when they start ganging up.

And he’s not phased at all.

Not by how loud they are. Not by the inappropriate jokes. Not by the way Nari kept wiggling her eyebrows at you all night or how Ryu kept asking him deeply inappropriate questions with zero shame.

No. He just rolls with it. And that—more than anything—makes heat bloom in your chest.

By the time you’re all huddled into the back of a cab, squeezed shoulder to shoulder, the windows fogged slightly with leftover laughter and tipsy warmth, you feel yourself relaxing more than you have in months.

“Stop here,” Nari calls, tapping the window.

The cab slows, and she and Ryu both start gathering their things.

“Be safe, babe,” Ryu sing-songs, winking so hard it’s practically illegal. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Which is… what, exactly?” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “Honestly? The list’s shorter the other way.”

Nari leans across you, looking Seonghwa dead in the eye. “She’s special. Break her heart and we will tattoo your face in the most compromising position on every inch of Seoul.”

Seonghwa just nods, lips twitching into a smile. “Duly noted.”

And then they’re gone.

The cab pulls back into motion, now quieter. Dimmer. Just the two of you. Your apartment comes into view faster than you expect. The cab slows. Stops.

You look out the window.

Then the words leave you before you’ve thought them through.

“Do you… want to come up?”

You glance at him, heartbeat tapping behind your ribs.

He looks at you, expression unreadable for half a second. Then—

“I’d like that.”

Your fingers wrap around the door handle, and you step out into the night. This time, when he follows, he’s not just following your footsteps—

He’s stepping quietly, willingly, into your world.

As soon as the door of your apartment clicks shut behind him—quiet, final—you don’t even think.

You turn.

He barely has time to blink before you’re on him, pressing him back into the wood with a heat that’s been building all night. Your hands fist into the front of his shirt, dragging him down just enough.

You kiss him. Hard.

No hesitation. No teasing.

You suck his lower lip into your mouth, biting down—just enough to make him groan.

That sound, it positively wrecks something in you. It’s deep and desperate, like he’s been holding back and you just pulled the dam open with your teeth. His hands find your waist immediately, gripping tight, anchoring himself to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you breathe, your words hot against his mouth.

“I know,” he growls, voice rougher now. “You looked so good, I could barely think straight.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I was trying to behave.”

Your laugh is breathless, dangerous. “Don’t.”

His lips crash back to yours, more demanding this time—his mouth moving against yours like he’s memorising it. Like he needs it.

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans again—low and broken.

Seonghwa’s hands roam your sides like he’s been dying to touch you all night, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t learn you by heart. His lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate, and your head tips back, breath catching.

You tug his shirt up—impatient, insistent—and he lets you pull it over his head, his chest rising and falling hard beneath the soft light of your apartment. You’ve seen him calm and elegant, but now? He’s undone.

You let your eyes linger.

God, he’s beautiful.

You run your palms down his chest, over the lines of him, feeling the heat under his skin.

He leans in again, pressing his mouth to your throat, voice ragged against your skin. “You sure about this?”

You nod, whispering, “I wouldn’t have asked you up if I wasn’t.”

That’s all it takes.

His hands slide under your top, pushing it up, lifting it over your head—tossing it somewhere without looking. His fingers are warm on your skin, trailing lightly from your ribs to your hips as he kisses you again, slower this time. Deep. Claiming. Like he wants to taste every sound you make.

You moan into his mouth, arching into him, and he groans—one hand gripping your thigh, the other moving to cup your face—steadying you as if he needs to feel your heartbeat in his palm.

“Jump.”

You loop your hands around his neck, obeying, and his arms circle around your thighs.

“Bedroom?”

“Just through there, second door to the right.” You breathe, before attaching your lips to his collarbone.

He hisses, gripping into your flesh tighter as he pushes open your bedroom door with his thigh. Once you’re inside, he sits down on your bed, still supporting your weight. You’re straddling his waist now, wrapped around him like python ready to strike.

Your breath catches in your throat as he nips at the sensitive skin on your neck, so consumed in the feeling that you don’t even register him unclasping your bra until it falls away from you—and then he’s tilting you backwards, planting kisses down your chest. The whimper that erupts from your chest when he swirls his tongue around your nipple is mortifying, but you’re too far gone to care at this point.

“Fuck, Seonghwa.”

You feel him smile against your skin, then he’s back on your lips. It’s hungry, feral, raw with need and desire. Nothing like the Seonghwa you first met, but you welcome it with open arms.

But you also wonder if you can coax that side out of him again. Wonder if he can be needy…

So you flip the script. Your hand anchors onto the centre of his chest, pushing him backwards onto the mattress. He’s confused at first, his eyes widening slightly, but then you’re fumbling at his zipper. You can practically feel his heart stutter.

“Y/N…”

But you don’t respond, at least, not with words. You slip his jeans down just far enough to expose the outline of him inside his boxers.

Shit, he’s thick.

You palm him through the thin material, and delight in the way he bucks up to meet you.

You want more. No. You need more. You need to hear him—see him fall apart under your touch. His jeans hit the floor, along with his boxers, and god damn, even his dick is pretty.

When your fingers wrap around him, he’s already breathless—and when your plush lips grace his tip, he lets out the most earth shatteringly beautiful whine. You want to save it to your Spotify playlist.

You start off slow, flattening your tongue against his length, and he shivers. His hands anchor into your hair, tugging lightly. It makes your eyes roll back into your head.

You pick up the pace, needing his responses like some sort of hard drug. His grip tightens in your hair as he softly pants, so you pull back and roll your tongue once over his head. His hips buck, sending him straight to the back of your throat. You stifle a gag, and he immediately pulls back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

But you’re more than okay. And it’s given you a wicked idea.

Slowly, you release him from your mouth. His chest is rising and falling furiously as he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck my throat.”

He blinks. Hard.

“What?”

You don’t respond, instead you reattach, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You smack the side of his thigh, and he bucks again, but this time you hold him there for a second.

“Fuck, fuck. Shit. Please.” He groans, then begins to move.

Bingo.

He thrusts into your mouth again and again—until tears are rolling down your cheeks. It’s all worth it to see the look on his face. The way his lips are parted, brows knitted together. The soft moans each time he rolls his hips.

Then he stops.

He grasps you by the arms, pulling you up and switching places. He spins you, then pushes you forward onto the bed by the small of your back.

“It’s my turn.”

In a flash, your remaining clothing is discarded into a pile on the floor, and he’s diving between your legs.

“Seonghwa, oh my god.”

Your hands fist into the sheets as he practically assaults you with his tongue, his hands winding from behind you to cup your breasts. Your mind is spinning—it’s never felt like this. None of the men you’ve ever been with before have had you in this much of a chokehold.

You can’t help but feel bad for your neighbours, because this is anything but quiet. You’re positive you’ve never made these noises before—but fuck—you can’t keep them in. The way he’s drinking you up, it’s like he’s been wandering in a desert for days and just found a source of hydration.

The heat in the pit of your stomach blooms, your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You arch back into him, desperate for the release that’s building. He wraps his arms around your thighs and yanks you further into him, and that’s what does it.

“Hwa. I’m—” you can’t even finish your sentence before you tense up, pleasure jolting through every nerve ending. Your body trembles as he carries you through it, still focusing on you. You don’t even notice that he’s rocking into the mattress himself.

When you finally stop shuddering, you don’t waste a moment.

“Fuck me, fuck me now.”

He fumbles around on the floor, trying to find his wallet. Once you clock what he’s doing, you turn your head.

“I said now, no time for that.”

Seonghwa moans, like actually moans. He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand grips your bare ass as he lines himself up, then eases in.

“Oh god.” He hisses through gritted teeth.

When he starts moving, it’s not soft or careful. He snaps his hips into you, each motion grazing the most sensitive part within you. It feels like both heaven and hell at the same time. Holy and sinful. You could ascend up or down at any point, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be right now. If you could suspend yourself in this moment forever, with Seonghwa buried deep inside you, you would.

“Come for me again, please.”

You turn your head slightly so that you can see his face, and it nearly breaks you in half. His lip is tucked behind his teeth, eyes rolling up towards the heavens, sweat rolling down his brow in steady droplets. You want to frame it and hang it up in your living room.

Your walls begin to contract—squeezing him so tightly that he sputters behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Y/N.” He hisses.

Your arms give way beneath you as your second orgasm crashes over you in waves, a string of curses leaving your lips as you still and go limp beneath him. He’s seconds behind, pulling out of you and painting your lower back.

Your breathing is just beginning to slow when you feel it, a soft press of lips between your shoulder blades.

Then his voice, low and warm behind you. “I’ll be two minutes.”

You barely manage a nod, already melting into the mattress, skin still flushed, limbs pleasantly heavy.

He slips from the bed, the soft rustle of discarded sheets and his bare footsteps padding down the hall the only sound left in the room. You close your eyes, sinking into the warmth he left behind, letting yourself breathe him in on the pillow, your heart still beating too fast for something that’s already over.

Moments later, he returns.

You open your eyes as he appears in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of your kitchen. Still naked. Still beautiful. Still impossibly Seonghwa.

He crosses the room with quiet purpose and hands you a glass of water without a word.

You sit up slowly, taking it from him, and he watches you drink—shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Not smug. Just… content. Like bringing you water after wrecking you is the most natural thing in the world.

You hand the empty glass back. He sets it on your nightstand carefully, like everything he touches matters.

And then he climbs over the bed to you.

He settles in beside you, arm sliding around your waist, body warm against yours. He kisses you again—this time not with heat, but with reverence.

Soft.

Lingering.

His lips move slowly against yours, mouth tilted like a promise. His fingers graze your skin like he’s trying to memorise it all again. It’s a high contrast from what just passed between you—less hunger, more worship.

You rest your forehead against his. “You’re dangerous.”

He hums, smiling. “You’re the one who told me to kiss you.”

“You didn’t have to do it so well.”

He kisses you again—just because he can.

Later, after you both get cleaned up, laughter mingling with quiet touches and half-dressed wandering through the apartment, you return to bed. This time under the covers, bare skin tucked beneath cotton and warmth.

He curls around you from behind, arm draped over your waist, hand slipping into yours.

You don’t speak. There’s nothing left to say.

Only the rhythm of your breath, the slowing beat of two hearts finding a pace together. And long after your eyes drift shut, Seonghwa stays awake—just for a while—listening to the soft sound of you breathing.

As if it’s the first song he’s ever loved.

And the only one he ever wants to hear again.

~

The first thing you notice is the light.

Soft and golden, slipping through the gap in your curtains like it’s trying not to wake you.

The second thing? The space beside you is cold.

Empty.

Your eyes flutter open fully now, heart skipping.

He’s gone.

Your brain kicks into overdrive almost instantly. Did he leave in the night? Did he regret it? Was it too much? Were you too much?

You sit up slowly, clutching the edge of the comforter to your chest. The room is still. Too quiet. Your heart pounds as memories of last night flicker through your mind in flashes—his mouth on yours, his voice, the way he’d held you like you were something precious.

It felt real. It felt right.

But now the silence leaves space for doubt.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, toes hitting the cool floor just as the door creaks open.

Your head snaps up—and there he is.

Standing in the doorway.

Tray in hand.

Two plates of breakfast. Two cups of coffee. A sheepish, sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

Your breath catches.

“I wasn’t sure if you were a sweet or savoury person,” he says quietly, “so I made both.”

You blink. “You… made breakfast?”

His smile widens, just a little. “In your kitchen, obviously. Which, by the way, is terrifying. I think it took me longer to figure out where you keep your spatulas than it would’ve taken to drive home and cook there.”

A laugh bubbles out of you—half relief, half disbelief. “You made me breakfast in bed.”

He walks over, setting the tray down carefully across your lap. The scent of coffee hits you first—rich and familiar. Then toasted bread. Eggs. A little fruit. A drizzle of honey.

“I didn’t want you to wake up and think I left,” he says softly, kneeling beside the bed so he can meet your eyes. “I just… wanted to do something nice.”

You stare at him for a moment.

Then reach out, fingers brushing his cheek.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

“I know,” he smiles, eyes crinkling. “But you kissed me first. So really, this is all your fault.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. As you take your first sip of coffee, your heart finally steadies.

He’s still here.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s not going anywhere.

~

It’s been a month.

A month since that first night. Since he kissed you in his kitchen. Since he made you stew, and kissed your shoulder blades, and curled into your bed like he’d always belonged there.

Now, it feels like he always has.

You’re inseparable.

Seonghwa appears in your life like clockwork; in the soft clink of café cups during morning coffee runs, in the sudden burst of fragrance every time he opens the studio door, in the gentle brush of his hand on the small of your back when he thinks no one’s looking.

And every day—without fail—he brings flowers to your studio.

Fresh.

Personal.

Always arranged just for you.

They sit proudly on the windowsill next to your station in a rotating series of handpicked vases, each new bouquet becoming part of your ritual. You draw them obsessively now—on your iPad, in your sketchbooks, on the edge of spare stencil paper. Sometimes he’ll stand behind you quietly, watching with that gentle awe in his eyes.

Each time you show him, he smiles. That kind of smile that radiates right out of his chest.

Pride. Admiration. Something deeper.

He lunches with you. Teases Ryu and Nari like he’s known them for years. He helps clean up when you’re too tired to move, reads while you finish late-night sessions, and brings you hot packs for your shoulders without being asked.

He’s the most attentive person you’ve ever known, and you’re not used to it. But you aren’t afraid of it anymore.

Today starts like any other.

You’re mid-consult, flipping through flash sheets with a regular, when the front door chimes softly. You glance up—expecting a walk-in, or maybe someone for Nari.

But it’s him.

Of course it is.

Seonghwa leans casually on the front desk, an iced americano in one hand, a soft grin on his face.

You finish up the consult, confirm the appointment, and wave your client off with a smile before you call across the room—

“You’re early.”

“I brought the good coffee,” he replies, lifting the cup like a peace offering. “That earns me ten extra minutes.”

You smirk, walking over. “Is that a rule?”

“It is now.”

He passes you the drink, and just as your fingers graze his, he clears his throat softly.

His voice is casual. Too casual.

“I want an appointment.”

You pause. “With me?”

He nods. “I want you to tattoo me.”

Your brows lift, surprised—but your heart immediately kicks up.

“You sure?” you ask, searching his face. “It’s not just because you’re sleeping with the artist, right?”

He laughs. “No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

You tilt your head. “What do you want?”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. You open it slowly.

And your heart stops.

It’s your drawing. The one you made that first night—his bouquet. The first thing he ever gave you. Pale yellow ranunculi. Eucalyptus. That soft lilac bloom.

Your lines. Your shading.

“You kept this?”

He nods. “It was the moment everything changed.”

Your throat tightens. “Where?”

He touches his chest, just over his heart.

“I want it here,” he says. “So I can carry that moment with me. Always.”

You can’t speak for a moment—your eyes still locked on the design.

Then, softly, you whisper, “Okay.”

And he smiles like you just said yes to everything he’s ever hoped for.

The studio buzzes quietly—just low music, soft voices, and the familiar hum of machines.

But your focus is narrowed.

Laser-sharp.

Your gloves are already on, your machine prepped, stencil placed perfectly on the left side of his chest—just over his heart. The first bouquet he ever gave you now inked in purple outline, waiting to be brought to life.

Seonghwa lounges back on the couch, shirt off, arms behind his head, looking entirely too calm for someone about to be stabbed repeatedly with a needle.

You glance down at him, arching a brow.

“You’re getting tattooed by your girlfriend today,” you say, mock-serious as you lower the arm of your machine. “Any last words?”

He grins up at you—easy, relaxed, completely smitten.

“Be gentle with me,” he says, teasing. “It’s my first time.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face betrays you. You rest your free hand against his chest. His heart beats beneath your fingers, steady and real.

He looks up at you with nothing but trust in his eyes.

“Ready?”

“For you?” he says softly. “Always.”

Your breath catches—just for a second. Then the machine whirs to life.

You begin.

Your strokes are careful, practiced, confident. But your heart stirs with every pass. Because you know this body. This heart. This man. And now, you’re leaving a piece of your art—yourself—on him. Permanent. Irrevocable. Woven into his skin.

He doesn’t flinch. Not once. Just watches you work, eyes soft with something far deeper than pain.

And as the bouquet begins to bloom beneath your hands, petal by petal, line by line—you realise you’ve never loved your craft more than you do in this moment.

The machine winds down with a quiet click. You set it aside, peel off your gloves, exhaling slowly.

“It’s done,” you murmur, voice soft with something you can’t quite name yet. “Go take a look.”

Seonghwa sits up slowly, bare chest rising and falling with each breath. He walks to the mirror at the far end of the studio, the light catching on the fresh sheen of ointment you’ve spread over the new piece. His eyes lock on the reflection.

And he freezes.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then—quietly, “It’s perfect.”

He turns slowly, eyes glassy with emotion, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s everything I wanted. And more.”

You lean back slightly on your stool, heart thudding, cheeks flushed. But before you can speak, he crosses the room.

And takes your hands in his.

Not hurried. Not dramatic. Just… genuine.

His fingers slide between yours, holding you like he’s grounding himself in this moment.

“I’ve thought about how many different ways I wanted to tell you this,” he says, voice a little rougher now. “But this feels like the right one.”

You stare up at him, breath caught in your throat.

“I know I’ve only known you for just over a month,” he continues, “but in all honesty? It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

You blink hard, tears stinging your eyes before you can stop them.

“Things with you are just… easy. You bring something into my life that I’ve never had. Something warm. Real.”

He smiles, brushing his thumbs gently over the backs of your hands.

“I might be a flower boy,” he murmurs, “and you might be a slightly scary, emo, tattoo girl—”

You let out a watery laugh.

“—but we make so much sense.”

He leans in slightly, forehead nearly touching yours now.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The words settle over you like the final line of a poem.

“I really love you. For all that you are.”

You can’t speak right away—not with your throat tight and your hands trembling in his. But when you do, it’s quiet.

Steady.

“I love you too, Hwa.”

And for once, neither of you has to say anything more.

Because he’s yours. And you’re his.

Ink, petals, soft hearts and sharp edges—all tangled into something that feels like forever.

[cheshireliam]

"Me and You, Always" Story Event: Silvio Ricci Chapter 4

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

After we had our Christmas dinner, Emma stood from her seat and got behind me. 

She placed her two hands on my shoulders, leaving me no way to escape. 

Emma: If there’s something troubling you, I’m here to listen, you know?

Silvio: Ain’t got nothin’ like that. 

Emma: … Hm?

(... Damn it, she noticed.) 

She reached for the package I’d left on the chair next to me.

Emma: What’s this…?

Silvio: Could be somethin’ someone forgot. 

Emma: No, from the way it’s wrapped, this definitely belongs to you. 

Silvio: What kinda logic’s that? 

Emma: Am I wrong?

Silvio: … Ya ain’t wrong. 

(Whatever. She’s found it now, doesn’t matter anymore.)

(If she don’t look like she likes it, I can just get her somethin’ else another day. Ain’t no big deal.) 

Silvio: Take it. It’s yours. 

Emma: A Christmas present? Thank you so much! 

Emma sat down on the chair next to me and swiftly unwrapped it.

I felt like a convict waiting for execution. 

(Why the hell am I stressin’ so much over a goddamn present?) 

I propped my chin on my hand and watched as she finally pulled the thing out just enough for it to come into view.

Emma froze, completely speechless, her hands stopping mid-motion with a look of surprise on her face.

(Knew it’d go like this.)

Silvio: Give it to me if ya don’t want it.

I reached for the present, but Emma held it away from me with the speed of a startled rabbit. 

Emma: I never said I didn't want it. I do want it. 

Emma: Please give me some time to let this emotional moment sink in. 

She traced her fingers over the book that was probably thick enough to be used as a blunt weapon. 

The book was titled “A Guide to Adventuring” and contained everything from how to set up camp to avoiding dangers, it had every bit of information you needed for adventuring. It was a well-known book amongst sailors and explorers.

And I’d never seen or heard of a woman who actually wanted to read that thing. 

(The old me would’ve never picked something like this as a present to a woman.)

(Back then, I figured I could just throw some jewels and fancy dresses at a woman, and that’d be enough, but…)

Emma: This is amazing… it has everything I’ve been wanting to learn about. 

Emma: I can’t believe a book this incredible exists… 

Page after page, Emma’s hands never stopped flipping through the book. 

(... This ain’t the face of someone sayin’ nice things just for the sake of sayin’ ‘em. She’s really happy ‘bout this.)

As I watched Emma get absorbed in the book, she suddenly snapped herself back to reality and closed the cover.

Emma: Sorry, I was completely lost in the hook. 

Silvio: This really is good enough for ya?

Emma: It’s not just “good enough”, Prince Silvio. I’ll be happy with anything you give me. But…

Emma: From this book, especially, I can tell how much though you put into getting me a gift.

Emma: I could ask for nothing more. 

Her smile was so bright, it was almost like she had stardust spilling out of her eyes. 

She wasn't even touching me, and yet my face heated up so badly I had to turn away. 

Silvio: Fine, then. Since I went outta my way to get it for ya, ya better read every damn page. 

Emma: I’m not only going to read it, I’m going to make sure I learn everything inside this book. 

Emma: Thank you, Prince Silvio!

Silvio: … Tch, don’t just hug me outta nowhere like that! 

Despite being at Emma’s mercy, my grumpy face barely lasted. 

(Just like how you’ve been readin’ stories ‘bout my adventures and tryna understand my world…)

(Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two ‘bout your world too)

…

Winter passed in the blink of an eye.

Once the fresh leaves on trees and the grass were sprouting again, we decided to go for an outing. 

Emma: I caught one!

Silvio: Don’t let the fish drag ya into the lake.

Emma: I’m not that clumsy, I would never— wh… whoa!? 

Silvio: What’d I just tell ya!? 

I wrapped an arm around her waist as soon as she was nearly pulled overboard by the fishing rod.

(Whatever’s on the line… it’s a big one.)

Emma let out tiny grunts as she wrestled with the fish, battling its strength for several intense minutes—

And when it finally emerged from the lake’s surface, it was so big she had to hold it with both arms. 

Emma: I… I might have just fished out the lake guardian. 

Silvio: You’re pretty damn good for a newbie. 

Emma, who had been stunned speechless, finally smiled again.

Silvio: If ya even picked up fishin’, maybe ya could really handle going on solo camping trips soon.

Emma: I’ve worked hard for the past year, after all. 

Emma: Have I grown enough to accompany you on your trips yet, Prince Silvio? 

(... The sea’s dangerous.)

(If there ever comes a day where I have to go on a long voyage, I’ve always thought I’d leave ya behind at the castle.)

(Depending on the route, sometimes we gotta camp on remote islands, and I’ve seen just ‘bout every kind of danger there is.) 

Silvio: Even if you’ve grown now, what’d you do if I said I was gonna leave ya behind? 

Emma: For sure I wouldn't forcefully invite myself along if you made that decision.

Emma: I wouldn't want to go if I’m only going to get in the way. And if it’s necessary for me to stay behind in the castle, then I will.

Emma: It’s just…

Emma fell silent, carefully choosing her words while looking up at the clear blue sky. 

Emma: I think it’s not right to give up without trying even just once. 

Emma: If there’s a wish I want to fulfil, I’m going to give it everything I’ve got, regardless of whether I’ll ever fulfil it or not. 

Emma: I want to live in such a way that I won’t have a single regret at the end of my life. 

Silvio: … You… 

Emma: I learnt that from one of your adventuring stories, Prince Silvio. 

When she turned her eyes back to me, there was a determination so firm that nothing in this world could shake it.

Emma: When you first started off, you didn't know if your voyages would be successful. 

Emma: But you had a goal in mind, and so you never gave up on your dream, setting sail across the endless sea. 

Emma: That’s why I’m not going to give up easily either.

Emma: Because I’m the fiancée of Prince Silvio, the brave man who chased down and fulfilled the biggest dream on the continent. 

The warm, gentle springtime breeze didn’t just touch my skin, it felt like it touched my heart too.

Silvio: Hah, I ain’t so easy to keep up with, ya know?

Emma: And that’s exactly what I’m going for! 

(She’s a cheeky one. But she’s also gutsy, earnest, and damn fearless.)

(Now that I can say I’ve come to understand ya better…)

(I can also say, there ain’t no one else in this world who will ever deserve to be my woman but ya.)

[avocado-writing]

64. “I can taste myself on your lips and it’s messing me up real bad.” - Perpetua finds you after running into you in public and being enamored with your scent. Sweet Creature Pet loses himself when you let him feed from you leading to something more.

Your write CreatuerPet so great. 🖤🤍🖤

aww ty baby! i like writing him so i'm glad people like reading him <3

this one got away from me a bit length wise. gn!reader x creature!Perpetua (implied to be a vampire). bloodsucking, penetrative sex, oral (reader receiving)

he smelt you in black mass, and ever since, he's been obsessed.

it had been his first, and he had been nervous - of course he had, it was an important thing he was doing, being the head of this Ministry. but then there you were in the front pew, ankles crossed, looking up at him with those wide, adoring eyes. you were hooked on every word. and he was hooked on you.

he could smell your blood around the abbey, every time he caught a whiff of where you had been he'd found himself drooling a little. and to catch sight of you? oh! such bliss. the way your hips swayed as you walked, your light laughter, the softness of your neck that begged to have fangs pierce it. how you smiled and waved at him so kindly whenever your eyes met and it made his heart threaten to jump from his chest.

did you know what you were doing to him? could you even begin to imagine?

it was foolish to go so long without feeding. he hadn't meant to, he'd just gotten so caught up in the rigamarole of upper clergy that it had totally slipped his mind. then one night he was caught with a growling stomach and a parched throat, and his need to drink was simply overwhelming, so he found himself climbing the brickwork wall of the ministry to get to your room.

tonight is the night he tastes you, he is sure of it.

you are sitting at your boudoir, performing a nightly skincare routine, and almost jump out of your skin when he knocks on your window. your face flashes with delight upon seeing him, and then utter bewilderment at the fact he’s somehow climbed three floors up. still though, you come and unlatch it.

"papa?"

"may I enter, my heart?"

you gasp a little as you realise why he needs to ask the question - the way his fangs glint in the moonlight is also somewhat of a giveaway - but nod, standing back to give him room.

"of course you can come inside."

the invitation given, he unspools his long body into your living space, delighting in the scents of your tinctures and soaps. he can feel the beat of blood within your skin through the air, percussive to your need. it is intoxicating.

"can I help, papa?"

"my darling... there is something your papa must ask if you. you see, I am hungry, and i need to feed. I was wondering if you would do me that kindness?"

a flash of terror crosses your face, but it is dominated by your curiosity.

"oh. will it...?"

"it shouldn't hurt, and wouldn't be dangerous. i know when to stop."

the myriad of emotions you're experiencing culminate in one decisive one: lust.

"yes. okay. you may feed from me."

"thank you, my heart. you might want to sit somewhere comfortable."

he is surprised when you take his claws gently in your hand and lead him to your bed, the tender touch of a lover though he's not even kissed you yet. (he wants to, though, how couldn’t he?) you sit on the mattress and gently unbutton your pyjama top, just enough so that it reveals your sternum.

“here?” you ask, brandishing your neck. Perpetua can feel himself drooling.

“yes, my dear. there.”

he reaches in, eyes flickering up to your face to make sure you’re comfortable. the flash of desire he sees gives him the courage to bite.

his fangs sink into the soft skin below your jaw and you hiss. he doesn’t make the wound too deep or uncomfortable but suckles a little, drawing blood out from its delicious source. he groans in abject pleasure. you taste better than he ever could have imagined, and the thrum of arousal blossoming on his palate may drive him to madness.

your hand comes up to clutch the back of his head and draw him closer, encouraging him to embrace you. he does. he is lost in the smell of you, the blossom of you on his tongue, the heaving heat of your body taking joy from this all.

the blood flow stems and dries. he pulls back, licking his lips.

“thank you, darling. I—”

he does not finish his sentence because you’re kissing him. it steals the breath from his lungs and he finds himself wrapping you in the long embrace of his arms, angling his head so he sink into you better.

“I can taste myself on your lips and it’s messing me up real bad,” you whisper, and when you pull back your mouth is smeared with your own blood. the sight of it goes straight to Pereptua’s cock and he groans as you card your fingers through the dark tangle of his curls.

“my heart, you don’t know what you’re doing to me… ever since i first saw you at mass, I’ve been…” obsessed. he’s been obsessed.

“me too, papa. me too. please, make love to me?”

how can he say no to that?

he lays you down on your soft blankets and spreads you open, enraptured by how you watch him like he’s your guiding light. he can see how ready you are for him, can scent your aching need in the air. a kitten lick has you bucking against him and he dives in without a second thought.

kissing and sucking at your eager sex, he busies himself with your pleasure. it is with a gasp from both of you that you come on his lips; and there are those beautiful, clever fingers again, burying into his scalp and guiding him back to your neck. he lathes his tongue over the wound to taste the little blood which is left. he presses his hips to yours, a slow, sweet slide, bucking as he tries to find purchase. it takes a moment for his cock to line up with your entrance but the whisper of “oh, papa, right there…” spurs him on and he sinks himself into you with a deep, desperate thrust.

seated in your warmth he takes a second to radiate in your presence before he begins to move. you cling onto his back, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and nocking your angles together at the base of his spine. it drags him deeper and he groans. he will not last long but he is desperate to drag another orgasm from you, eke it from your tender body with his cock. he moves quicker which has you moaning and when he spills he feels you flutter around him in that most intimate embrace.

he breathes your name in reverie. you chant his as a prayer as you come back down to earth, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his lips.

“don’t leave,” you whisper. he doesn’t know if you mean tonight or ever, but he takes it to mean the latter; he prefers it that way anyway.

“I won’t,” he promises, and kisses you again.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Disclaimer - I’m gonna try to keep to more mid-length emoji amounts to try to keep from overwhelming your inbox but if you’re wanting more asks of a specific size, let me know and I’ll come back with more!

Okay first theme is “Chimney and his brothers!” I’m loving both these stories and the exploration of these dynamics!! Chimney is such a fun character - of course because he’s hilarious but also because he’s so full of love for the people around him. I love reading about it!

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️ (the plot is thickening and I am hooked!!! The crows are out to get Buck! Chim is gonna join the ranks of Buck’s captains who wish they could keep him wrapped in bubble wrap :p I’m so excited to learn more about the curse and how it involves Bertie! Also excited for the Hen-Chim drama to come to a head!)

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷 (I’m LOVING this Kevin chapter! It’s so wonderfully juicy! Everyone’s freaking out! As is their right! It’s also so good when Chim is missing Bobby when we know he’s back! Very curious if they’ll reveal Bobby to Chim earlier now that he’s experiencing the resurrections too. Can’t wait to see what’s next!)

- PCA <3

These are perfect lengths!! Thank you!!!

I try to work on one big request, and then take breaks to do smaller ones. So anything over 54 sentences, to me, is a big request. So 36 sentences are perfect.

Ah I love this theme! Writing Chim is so fun for me. I love him so much.

36 for ☠️ (Excited to slowly reveal all this! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

---

Shit. Shit. How does she know? Did Buck tell her what they’re actually doing? Why would he do that? They had an agreement!

“You know what’s going on with Buck,” Maddie says. “You’re just not telling me.”

Oh. Well… That’s easier to deal with. 

“It’s a secret!” Chim explains. Technically not a lie. “You know how I am with secrets!”

“I do,” she nods.

“So please, Maddie. Don’t push! I want to keep Buck’s confidence on this. It’s important.”

Maddie gasps. Her hands fly to her mouth.

“What?” Chim asks. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s proposing to Eddie,” Maddie says. “He’s proposing and he told you and not me?”

 “What?” Chim finds himself asking again. How did she get there?

“I mean, I figured it’d happen quick,” Maddie says. “They’ve been half-dating forever, before either of them knew it. But this quick?” 

Chim could correct her. Assure her this isn’t it. But… Doesn’t that run the risk of her not buying his half-baked lie?

---

36 for 🪷 (THANK YOU!!! Excited to share more!)

---

“You okay?” Maddie asks.

“Mhm,” Buck answers. In a way that very much suggests the opposite. “You?”

“Yeah,” she nods, in a similar manner.

Buckleys. 

Maddie steps away from Buck and looks at Bobby. She smiles. She doesn’t do the thing 

everyone else has done. She doesn’t look at him with a mix of horror and awe and tears. Well, she’s a bit teary. She’s Maddie, after all. But she seems steady. Like nothing about seeing him is unexpected or world shattering.

She prepared herself. Bobby is grateful.

“Hi, Bobby,” she says.

He smiles. 

“Hi, Maddie.”

“Can I give you a hug?” She asks.

He nods. “Of course.”

She walks forward to embrace him, and even her hug feels steadying. God, she came here to hold them all together, didn’t she? He’s never been especially close to Maddie. Not the way he is with her husband or brother. But she’s closer to him than the other returned people. Maddie isn’t here for the dead. She’s here for the living.

The children walk inside next. Jee hugs Buck right away. He kisses her on the forehead.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Can you do me a huge favor today?”

“What is it?” She asks. 

“Can you keep Joze and Bertie occupied? They need someone responsible to watch them while we figure all this out.”

[bueckersbitxh]

she says im ‘so american’- ch 1

———————————————————————————————

pairing: ucon!paige x british!OC

summary: what happens when you move to america for a fresh start and sleep with your roommates sister on your first night there?

warnings: none rlly, flashbacks of the hook up, cursing, tension, it’s like intro to them tbh. only proofread once sorry not sorry.

wc: 3022

———————————————————————————————

As I woke up the first thing I noticed was the smell of mint. This was alarming for many reasons, one because my hotel room smelled like citrus yesterday. I know because I stole the air freshener and shoved it into my suitcase. The second thing I noticed when I glanced down was an arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and thirdly, im naked.

Fucking shit balls.

My memories came back to me in waves, the flight to Connecticut, the cute pub by the hotel, the one to many tequila slammers, american accent, blue eyes, toned pale skin. Id been in America for twelve hours and already managed to dash through my karma. I slowly turned my head to the side to see her face again, praying she wasn't just attractive in my drunken haze.

Nope. Jesus fuck. I think I hooked up with a greek goddess. Strong jaw line, long blond hair scattered on the pillow, toned muscle all wrapped around me. She had a cute slope of a nose, soft pink lips, her eyes were closed lightly, and a tiny snore came out of her every few seconds. Not an annoying snore either, actually she snored like a freaking baby deer. Like she needed anything else to add to her cuteness factor.

I turned away from her glancing around the room and-

Shit. Fuck. I scrambled not so gracefully on the bed, my legs getting tangled in her strong, long legs that were wrapped between mine. I landed on the floor like Bambi on ice.

The clock read 10:00 am sharp which meant I had thirty minutes to get back into my hotel room, get my shit, shower, make myself presentable, and find a ride to my new apartment building to move in and meet my roommate.

Shit. Fuck.

Paige started to stir on the mattress and I quickly put on the closest thing to me, her grey Uconn t shirt. My senses were immediately clogged with that wonderful mint smell again but this time with a hint of something vanilla. I was tempted to poke her awake and ask what cologne or perfume she wears, but I knew better than that. As I stood up from the floor in search of my pants, Paige’s eyes began to open. Snatching my pants off the side of her desk, I tried to ignore the memories of how they ended up there.

We stumbled through the door and paige’s mouth was everywhere all at once. Her fingers crawled up the back of my shirt as she backed me into what felt like a desk. “Off. take it off.” she groaned as she bit my bottom lip before moving one hand up to grasp my jaw tightly, her fingers bit into my skin causing my body to shiver lightly.

“You know anyone could tell what you're thinking about when you make that face right?” , paige’s raspy american accent wafted through the room, scratchy and gravelly from sleep. Pair that with the flare of heat in her eyes as she looked me up and down, one arm behind her head as she laid there, and my knees buckled. paiges smirk widened when I covered up my stumble with a clear of my throat and a spin to look around the room.

She only had on a black Nike sports bra and her biceps flexed as her arm was behind her head. i could see the muscles in every part of her arm. jesus.

“Do you know where my shirt is?” I asked back, looking around the room a bit more frantically when I saw the clock now read 10:05. I turned back around to face her, and she pinched her eyebrows together.

“Pretty sure it's… no longer wearable after last night” she said back, running a hand across her face as she looked at me with furrowed brows. Another memory of Paige ripping my shirt in half and throwing it off my body rolled through me, and I physically winced at the shock it sent to my core. Fuck. That might have been the best sex of my life.

Stop getting distracted. Hotel, suitcase, roommate.

“Right”, I cleared my throat, turning back to her, “Well then, I'm taking this one. Hope you don't mind,” I said, tugging at the shirt I was wearing while quickly leaning down to tug my jeans on as well. I hopped a little and stumbled backwards, losing my balance. Paige let out a snort, and I snapped my head up to glare at her. She quickly covered it with a cough.

“You don’t have to rush out of here ma, Jana always makes breakfast in the mornings.” She shrugged. I furrowed my eyebrows at the unfamiliar name and just went with it anyway, not having time for questions.

“Thanks for the offer. But I have to go. I'm moving into my new flat on campus at 10:30”, I explained quickly before yanking on my shoes. This is the most ungraceful interaction I have ever had, and I know for a fact I look atrocious. Paige’s body is like a furnace, so my hair is all tangled from sweating against her while we slept. Not to mention the three rounds of sex we had. I mean seriously, talk about stamina. My makeup has to be smeared, I refuse to look in a mirror. And I smell like tequila.

“Yeah? Which building? And also it's called an apartment.” She said casually. She leaned on her side to look at me better, propping a hand underneath her head to lean on. The sheet shifted, showcasing her delicious abs and, you guessed it, more toned muscle. I cleared my throat, looking back at her, her smirk was present. A dark glimmer in her watercolor eyes as she stared at me expectantly.

“The Moxy,” I replied back, She hummed as she nodded her head.

“My sister lives there. You'll like it”.

I nodded my head and glanced around awkwardly. I needed to leave now. What should I say? I can't say thank you. Paige laughed to herself, still looking at me.

“You can leave now, Rowan. I’ll see you around, don't worry.” She nodded before promptly standing up from the bed, and- Jesus Christ, shes only wearing boxers, sitting way to low on her hips. She strolled casually past me, running her index finger across my arm as she passed into the bathroom and closed the door.

It took me twenty seconds to pick my jaw up off the ground.

———————-

After a shower, some seriously needed hangover food, and a cab ride down to my apartment building. I now had the keys to my apartment. The movers were downstairs waiting for me to start bringing things up. I exited the elevator and read the door numbers until I reached 332 B. I knocked twice before trying the door, finding it unlocked. When I walked in, I was greeted by a tall blonde woman, talking animatedly on the phone. I let the door close behind me as I took a quick look around. It was nice, lots of plants, lots of colors.

The girl whipped around to face me and made an excited noise. “Hold on, I gotta go, she’s here!” she said into the phone before promptly throwing it onto the couch without looking. She walked toward me with a big smile, dimples and all. “Hey, I’m Briar,” She said, reaching her hand out to shake mine.

I returned the gesture and smiled. “Rowan,” I said, and she immediately gaped at me.

“Oh my god! You're British? Your accent is so cute, say something else”, I laughed a little and shrugged my shoulders.

“Um, I'm from holmes chapel?” I told her, hoping it would distract her enough to not make me say random things in my accent.

“Wow, do you really listen to the queen, like all the time? I always imagine you guys living like jane austen characters” She talked fast. Like really fast. If she isn't on speed, then that's impressive.

“Um..she’s the queen so..yes?” I laughed, she seemed pleased with the answer as her smile nodded.

“do you think you could maybe help me bring some of my stuff up? if you aren’t busy or course.” i said not wanting to be a bother if she has plans.

“Oh yeah, of course. I’ll go get our neighbors to help too, KK and Ice, you'll love them,” she said, waving her hand in the air. She stepped around me toward to door and turned her head over her shoulder, “Take a look around, your rooms over there. And your bathroom is ensuite.” She smiled before walking out the door.

I slowly walked toward my door and pushed it open, The room was beautiful. There was a huge bay window on the side that overlooked the city lights. A bed and a desk were pushed into the corner, with a wardrobe in the other corner. The room wasn't overly big, but it was perfect and cozy. I smiled to myself and ran my finger over the window.

“That’s my shirt.” I heard that voice say from behind me, and I immediately whipped around. As soon as I turned around, I came face to face with the same blue eyes from this morning.

Paige stood leaning against my doorway with her arms crossed, looking at me expectantly. “Paige? What the hell are you- this is my apartment.” I sputtered, completely confused. Oh god, I hope she wasn't a psycho stalker. That would be my luck actually. Moves to London and gets murdered because she was stupid enough to hook up with a random girl on her first night here, then tell her where she lives.

“I know this is your apartment, and that,” she pointed a finger at my chest, “is my shirt,” she said matter of factly, but this time her smirk grew like something amusing was going on that I didn't know about.

“I spilled my coffee on my shirt this morning, so I stole yours. Get over it, drama queen.” I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. It was true. I did spill coffee on my white Foo Fighters tee while eating some hangover tacos this morning. Paiges ridiculously comfortable Uconn tee was not the fashion option of choice. “Why are you here?” I said slowly.

“I told you, my sister lives here,” she said casually. As I continued to stare at her. She just rolled his eyes at me, “Here, in this building. As in this apartment,” she continued, before letting out an exasperated sigh, “As in Briar is my sister. For fucks sake sparks keep up.”

I squinted at the use of my last name, so shocked she even remembered me telling her it. But then stilled as a memory rolled through me.

“My sister lives there. You'll like it.” She said back.

“You can leave now, Y/N. I’ll see you around, don't worry.” She nodded.

I gasped as I put it together. I took a step toward her and pointed a finger at her, “You knew! You knew I was your sister's new roommate.” I demanded, and Paige just rolled her lips into her mouth, looking ecstatic about this conversation.

“Nah”, he said slowly as if I were a child, and quickly slapped my finger away, “I made an educated assumption that you may be my sister's new roommate who also happened to be moving in today.” She said, grinning at me, looking perfectly smug. “Plus, you didn't mention it till this morning, and that's when I put the pieces together. You were in a rush, so I figured I'd just tell ya later” she shrugged.

I gaped at her, and it quickly turned into a glare. She’d just tell me later? When the fuck was later? Later, when I walked in and she was sitting on my couch. And what if her sister saw this- oh, oh my god, her sister.

“You cannot tell your sister about last night,” I said sternly. It will be weird. It will be so weird, my brand new roommate who I am hoping to become friends with cannot, under any circumstances find out I fucked her brother ten hours before I moved in. Is lying the best option? Probably not, but no way in hell am I starting off here with the possibility of being labeled a one night stand slut. I left all that bullshit behind on purpose. on a different continent.

Paige furrowed her brows at me and her mouth set into a hard line, “Why? It’s not like she would care. We’re tight anyways,” she said, looking down at me. have i mentioned she’s tall? like really tall. jesus.

“Because it's just- no. I don't want her to know. You don't build a friendship with someone by introducing yourself as her sister latest fuck” I said harshly, shaking my head. I rejected the idea immediately.

Paige stared at me for a moment before clenching her jaw once, twice, and then relaxing her entire face. She glanced behind her, then back at me, and gave me the tiniest grin that has ever existed. “If that’s what you want. We won't tell anyone,” She said softly, looking from one of my eyes to the other.

The air suddenly felt tighter. I looked up at her and traced the lines of her face. She took a step closer, leaning down until our eyes were level, “Is that what you want Rowan ?” she asked, and her breath fell over my skin. My breath hitched in my throat as another flashback from last night hit me.

Paige’s mouth skimmed my inner thigh before her teeth scraped across. “Is this what you want Rowan?” she said, her breath hit against my core, causing my entire body to shake in anticipation. Sucking another spot on my inner thigh I nodded my head yes but she pulled away and looked down at me. Her hand was on my throat in an instant, squeezing just enough to drive me insane. “Words, Rowan. Tell me what you fucking want from me. I wanna hear it”, she rasped.

My eyes closed for the briefest of seconds, as Paiges finger traced up my inner arm. The sound of the front door closing had me stumbling backwards blindly. I blinked my eyes a few times, looking at Paige with my mouth slightly ajar. She stared back at me with a different look than earlier. This one was dark, her eyes were glazed over, and her jaw was tight.

“Rowan, come meet the girls! Let's get you moved in girl”, I heard Briar clap excitedly from the living room. I spared Paige one last glance before walking past her toward the living room.

As I walked down the hallway, I could feel Paige following closely behind me. Like a magnetic force between our bodies, keeping me only two steps ahead of her, no more, no less. I rounded the corner and saw Briar standing with two girls, one of them was tall like paige, the other was more briars height.

Briar smiled at me , before her face fell as her eyes moved behind me. My stomach dropped as I saw her look between Paige and I. Could she know? Could she have heard?

“Oh crap! I totally forgot to tell you my sister was here. I’m sorry, rowan, I hope she didn't scare you. That's Paige, Paige, this is rowan.” She said, looking slightly embarrassed. I pasted a fake smile on my face before turning slightly to acknowledge paige.

“It's okay, she introduced herself. All good.” I said, turning back to face her. She smiled brightly, but I noticed one of the girls behind her furrowed her eyebrows while looking between Paige and I.

“This is Ice”, Briar said, oblivious to all the tension in the room, as she threw one hand toward the tall girl, she was beautiful. “And this is kk,” she threw her arm toward the shorter girl, soft features, she had a bright smile on her face.

“Hello,” I greeted them, looking between the two and nodding my head.

Paige clapped from behind me, making an exasperated noise, “Well, can we get this over with? I have somewhere to be.” She said slightly impatiently, before walking around me toward the door.

Someone call the airport and take me back to London. This is going to be a fucking shit show.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

It's Not Goodbye, It’s Just a See You Later  | Jason Todd/Red Hood & Batsis

Synopsis: Jason finally decides to leave Gotham and start on his own at New Angelique, and Valerie isn’t too happy about the change happening.

Note: Inspired by the announcement of the new Red Hood comics that will take place on the Continuity Timeline. Can't wait to read it!

Very much like her father, Valerie likes to sneak around Wayne Manor past her bedtime. Like her mother, she has a tendency to feel and hear things that are beyond the thick walls of the manor, and from her bedroom, she heard the whispering voices of her mother, her father, and one of her older brothers. It felt like they were talking right in her room when she heard them, that's why she woke up; she expected to find them in there, maybe standing in the middle of the room but they weren't.

So, like any other child, she got out of bed, crept out of her room, and tiptoed down the hall and to the stairs. Greg the gargoyle, who found the stair railing as his home reanimated when he sensed her presence, he was about to purr and jump to greet her when Valerie made a gesture to keep quiet. Greg understood immediately and remained at his post and returned to his static form.

They were in the living room, her parents and her older brother, Jason. Despite what her Aunty Selina says about her steps being as quiet and light as a kitten (Catwoman has been babysitting her lately and taught her a thing or two of her craft), Valerie knew her family would know she was there immediately if she wasn't extra, extra careful. 

She reached the open doors of the living room and Valerie kept in the dark to listen. Luckily she's learned a new thing from her mother and Papa Midnite about using her magic. She can blend in the dark.

“New Angelique, that's pretty far,” it was her mother, and Valerie could imagine the frown on her face.

“What brought this up?” It was her father this time and she knew he wasn't happy about what Jason said. But what does it have to do with New Angelique?

“Gotham's the Bat's city, maybe I just---I guess I just realized it's time I move out and start on my own,” it was Jason.

Momma sighed. “By moving?”

“Ma, we both know that even if I do have my own place here in Gotham, I'm still living in your fence. Well, his fence… it's nothing personal, it's just something I've been thinking about for a while now.”

“But what New Angelique, why that far?”

“Maybe it's because it still has a sense of home for me. You can take the kid out of Gotham, but you can't take Gotham out of the kid,” Jason tried to pass it as a joke but Momma didn't laugh. “Ma, please don't…”

“I'm not, it's just…” she paused. “Val?”

She was found already?!

A sigh from her Momma, “Valerie Willow Pryor-Wayne, step out of those shadows.”

Found out, Valerie walked out of the shadows with the darkness leaving her body to return to the corner, and with the light from the lamp and the fireplace, she was right at the center of her parents slightly disappointed looks and Jason's amused one.

“Shouldn't you be in bed, young lady?” Bruce went to get her. 

Valerie took his hand and had her father sit her on the armrest of the couch so she could reach their height. Sort of.

“I thought you were talking in my room,” Valerie told them. “Am I in trouble?”

Vivian took a breath and then smiled softly. “I guess you're off the hook this time. But you need to get back to bed, you have school tomorrow. Come on, say goodnight to Dad and Jason, I'll take you upstairs.”

“Wait.”

“Val?” Bruce asked.

Turning to Jason, Valerie asked him, “You're leaving?”

Just asking it, Valerie's eyes were already building tears and Jason couldn't find it in him to look at her. “Yeah, I am.”

“But why?” Her voice cracked.

“Val…” Vivian tried to comfort her but she got down the armrest and tugged on Jason's pants so he could look at her. At first he didn't but then Val tugged on his arm and this time he did.

“Why are you leaving?” She asked him.

“I just gotta, Val,” Jason shrugged.

“No, you don't. You don't have to leave… you can't!”

“Val,” Jason knelt down to face her. He brushed away the tears that fell down her cheeks. “You're too young to understand but when you grow up you gotta leave and get a new start. Find your roots.”

“But why do you want to get a new start?!” 

The lamp's lightbulb blew up, startling everyone. But it didn't just happen in the room, it also happened in other rooms, that's why Alfred came running down the stairs in fright looking for Valerie, he was relieved when he saw her with her parents and Jason, but curious to why she was crying. Before he could ask, Valerie ran, ignoring her parents’, Jason, and her grandfather's call as she went through the kitchen and out the back door through the garden, and the next thing she knew she was standing before the barn where Batcow, Steve, and Goliath were.

Did she really run that far? But how?

Her magic must have reacted to her emotion of wanting to get away from them and here she was. 

At least it was in the barn.

A cat's meow caught Valerie's attention, and jumping down from his usual hiding place was Alfred the cat and he was purred by Valerie's leg.

“Alfie,” Val picked up the cat and hugged him tight. “Jay's leaving too. I don't get to see Dick anymore, Tim left, and Damian left for school, Cassie's always away, Stephie too… and now Jason's leaving. He always leaves but he would always come back home here but this time he's not coming back. He's leaving for good.”

She sat on the ground with the cat. Goliath flew down and nudged her, a way to comfort her, and so did Batcow.

“They're all leaving, why won't they just stay?” Val cried.

She stayed in the barn a little while until she heard the sound of Ace and Titus’ barkings in the distance until they were closing in, and then the sound of Jason's voice. Ace and Titus were the first to see her, the two dogs whined and nudged her with their snouts, relieved to find her. 

“Ace, Titus,” Valerie hugged them. “Don't ever leave. Okay?”

“Val?” Jason came through the doors. “Can I come in?”

Val pouted and looked away from him.

“Still mad at me?”

No response.

“Okay,” Jason sat on the ground beside her and shooed away Damian's pets so he could have his sister for a minute. “Val.” 

No response.

“Vaaal.”

Still nothing.

Sighing, Jason pulled Val from the ground and had her on his leg, Val tried to get away but Jason had a steady and strong grip which had her stay put. If she can't get away, she'll just won't look at him.

“Baby bird.”

“You don't get to call me that! Not anymore!” Val's lip trembled.

“Val, I'm sorry. I know it's hard and you feel like I'm leaving you but–”

“But you are!” She finally faced him. “You're leaving Gotham and I won't ever get to see you anymore!”

“That's not true, baby bird.”

“Yes it is… I don't get to see you everyday anymore. Not even every week or every month. I haven't seen Dick for months now, and Tim hasn't visited the manor for a while. Damian's stuck at school, and Cassie and Steph don't always come home anymore… and Dad's always away, Mom and Grandpa are there but they're too busy so it's just me! It's just me in that big house! But when you come home you always, always stay with me! But this time… you're not coming home to the manor… you're leaving and you're never coming back.”

Jason brought her to a big hug and lets Val cry on his shoulder, or maybe it was his way to hide the fact he was also near to crying too. But he swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped the tears off his eyes discreetly. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Val but…” Jason pressed a kiss on her head. “I know exactly how you feel. When I was your age, maybe a little older and when I wasn't Robin, I also felt like I was alone in that place. Bruce is always leaving for work and being Batman, Ma was there but she's got work and it's mostly just me and Alfred, but he's also busy so it's just me. Just me in that big house and I also get lonely.

“When I came back to life, Val… all I ever wanted was to go back to that place and be with them but it wasn't the same anymore, you know? Nothing's the same anymore. I tried hard to settle down here but it just… It just doesn't feel right. Because everything's different now. So I gotta do this. I gotta find my own place.”

Because Gotham will always be Batman's city, and the Red Hood isn't sure if he could settle with that. Taking orders from the Bat his entire life? No, that's… it's not him.

Dick got his shot on going on his own and was doing so much better. Hell, maybe he got the idea from his older brother.

“Please, don't go,” Val hiccupped. 

“Hey, baby bird,” Jason had her look at him. “Hey, look at me. Please, Val?”

Val finally did, but her face was already a mess. Using the sleeve of his jacket, Jason cleaned it up a bit as he said, “I know it's hard, but it's part of growing up. Finding your place in the world. I know I will never be Batman, so this place ain't for me. It never will be. But just because I'm leaving doesn't mean we'll never see each other again, okay?

“Hey, I'll call. I'll visit, not everyday but I'll visit. And when I come here we'll do what we always love doing. Don't cry anymore, baby bird. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Valerie shook her head. “Why can't we just stay to how things were?”

Jason sighed. “Because that's not how life is. It always changes, and we always gotta accept that change. If we don't change then…” he paused, thinking deeply,  “Then bad people will keep being bad people, and not try to be good… and I am trying to be good, Val. I am trying so hard.”

“But you are good, Jay,” Val wiped his tears. “You're a good big brother. You're my big brother, and I wanna keep my big brother with me.”

Hearing her say that, Jason hugged her again just to hide the sob coming from his throat and he wiped his tears too. “And you're my baby sister… I know I said everything changes but there's one thing that will never change, Val.”

“What?”

“How much I love you, baby bird. That's what. You will always be my sweet baby sister and I will love you until the end of time. Here, I wanna show you something.”

Jason reached into his jacket's pocket and pulled out an old looking phone, it was small and Jason even flipped it to show the screen and the keypad. “This is a burner phone and it's got one number in it,” Jason went to the contacts and showed the single contact number.

“Whose number is that?”

“Wanna give it a call?” He handed her the phone and Val. “Just press this button.” He pointed to the green phone icon.

Val did as he said and waited with the ringing. 

There was a phone ringing in the barn, looking at Jason, Val pointed at his pocket and he went to get it. When he answered it, Val not only heard his voice because he was beside her but she can also hear it through the phone.

“Can you hear me, Val?” He was grinning this time.

Putting down the phone, Valerie hugged him again. “I'll miss you, Jay.”

“I'll miss you too, baby bird,” he kissed her head again. “If you ever need me, just give me a call using that. And I'll always answer… unless I'm working. But I will answer, just give me time.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Are we good now?”

She nodded.

“Alright, let's get you home,” Jason got up, he picked up the phones and pocketed them for now, and carried Valerie in his arms. He didn't want to let go of her just yet. “Maybe I can ask Ma if you can skip school tomorrow so you can see me off.”

Her hug tightened.

He laughed. “I'll take that as a yes… Val, loosen up or you're going to kill me.”

~ * ~

“You all set?” Vivian asked him one last time as Jason fixed his bike and zipped up his jacket. 

“Yeah, all set,” Jason faced his family one last time and took in the sight of them. Seeing the tearful eyes his mother had, Jason opened his arms to her and Vivian tackled him to a hug. “Come on now, Ma… we talked about this. We prepared for it.”

“I know, but… I'm going to miss you so much, my baby boy. Even when you're all grown up now, I can still see the little boy that Batman kidnapped from the streets and tied to the chair in the Batcave,” Vivian laughed, making him laugh too. She then kissed his cheek. “Always take care of yourself. Okay?”

“I will, Ma.”

“And just because you're moving doesn't mean you don't have a home here anymore. We'll always be here for you, Jason.”

“I know.”

After releasing his mother, Jason went to Alfred to hug him as a goodbye. Alfred patted his back and said a quiet, “Good luck, son.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jason whispered.

Then he turned to Valerie. Kneeling down, Jason lets Valerie hug him one last time. “I'll call you once I get there,” he told her.

“I'll wait for it. Goodbye, Jason.” She started to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Jason wiped her tears. “It's not a goodbye, okay? it's more of a see you later. Okay? I'll see you later, baby bird.”

Valerie nodded. “I'll see you later, Jay.”

“Love you, kid.”

Val smiled. “I love you too.”

After one last hug, Jason was about to head to his bike when he met Bruce's gaze. Approaching the man, Jason took a breath and then held out his hand to him. “See you around, B.”

But a handshake wasn't enough. To his surprise, Bruce brought him to an embrace and said, “See you around, son. Take care of yourself.”

“Take care of Gotham… and take care of the girls… and Bruce, thank you.”

Getting out of the hug, Jason went to his bike but just as he kicked it to life and before he could put on his helmet, Bruce called for him.

“Jason, there wasn't a time I regretted adopting you. We never did. We're proud of you.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah, right,” and he quickly put on his helmet to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. He waved Vivian and Val's way and then was riding off. At his mirrors, he could still see Vivian and Valerie standing there until they disappeared when he made a turn. And as he was a good distance away, Jason finally let out the sob he's been holding back, reaching inside his jacket, he held tight the pocket watch that had an old photo of him and Vivian when they were in his school carnival for Founder's Week, and he won her a prize.

He never knew how his life would turn out when he was a kid living alone in that apartment, dodging Gotham's social workers with a torn out page of a book that had a photo of a red-haired woman who he wanted to believe was his mother. Maybe he manifested it, this life, after nights and nights of dreaming and believing she was his mother, she eventually did. And who would have thought that his journey would start and end with her in a picture, but it wasn't just her anymore. There's a family he never thought he'd ever have—brothers and sisters who he could count on, a baby sister he adores, a grandfather who was always there, and a father who gave him a chance—though they would have their differences, in the end Bruce Wayne is the only father who Jason would say stayed with him and tried.

It may look like he's leaving all of this behind and going back to how his life was before them but it wasn't. Because this time, even when he's living in a new city alone, he knows he's got a family who will always keep the porch light open for when he comes home.