#and she has no intention of reaching out to me or even opening my message including my apology | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrs-delaney · 8 days ago

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Hide | Louisiana Saturday Night | Ten. Three

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 13k

Requested: No | Yes

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

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission.

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

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

Author’s Note:

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

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

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

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

Happy reading, sugars. 🩵🦞🏡

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” she said. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe didn’t press. Just watched her.

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

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

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

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

And then the front doors eased open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good, Papa?”

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

A few heads turned as they stepped out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s that?” she asked, not quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe just nodded. “I’ll be alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe smiled. “Hey.”

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

Riley groaned. “Oh my god. You too?”

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

Riley groaned. “My entire family hates me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Riley winced. “That’s my cue.”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her uncle glanced her way as the laughter settled.

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

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

“Tourin’ again this year?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like agreement.

Like he already understood.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither one even slowed down.

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

Nia walked up just as Riley started to rise.

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

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

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

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

Nia gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

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

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

Joe chuckled. “Tell him I said hey.”

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

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

“You eatin’ that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He always like this?” he asked.

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

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

Joe passed her a napkin without needing to be asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa.”

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

“PAPA.”

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

Megan was doubled over, practically wheezing.

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

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

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

“MEGAN.”

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

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

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

He bit back a grin. “A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when she saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

He tucked the phone away just as quietly.

No one noticed.

But he’d keep it.

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

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

Joe noticed her before she said anything.

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

Joe stood as Willis pushed himself up from his chair.

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

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

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

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

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

“I see you met Joe.”

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

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

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

“You want me to fix you a plate?”

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

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

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

Joe’s hand found the back of her chair.

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

Riley grinned. “Remind him.”

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

Joe nodded. “Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Too much?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Send me that,” she said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She snorted. “Optimistic about what?”

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when he saw it.

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

His voice was quiet. Suspicious.

“Is that…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just looked at her.

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

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

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

“I mean it.”

“Riley…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is such a bad idea.”

And then he kissed her.

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

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

“Quiet,” he reminded, half-laughing.

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

He gave her a look. “Riley.”

“I’ll be good.”

“You’re never good.”

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

“Joe,” she whispered, already too loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alive up there?”

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

But her hand was already reaching for him again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit—Baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she wasn’t.

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

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

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

Then she made a sound high, unsteady.

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

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

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body twitching around him.

But she didn’t stop.

And neither did he.

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

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

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

That did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh,” he breathed, pressing deeper.

Her body shattered beneath him.

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

“Good girl,” he whispered against her ear.

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

Joe didn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riley didn’t say anything.

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

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

The room was still. Dim. Hot.

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of them said another word.

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

* * *

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

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

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

Her eyes moved to the bedside clock and widened.

10:47 AM.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup,” he murmured. “You?”

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

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

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

Joe just raised his mug in quiet acknowledgment.

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

Megan snorted. “Clearly.”

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

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

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

Riley flinched back. “Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

Papa served himself first, an unspoken rule.

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

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

“Thanks,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe didn’t blink. “I won’t."

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

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

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

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

Joe didn’t say anything at first.

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

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

Riley didn’t know about that. Not yet.

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

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

And drove them home.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no sting in it. Just the truth.

Joe nodded again.

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

"Thanks for being with me this weekend."

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

"You don't have to thank me."

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

Then she turned and disappeared down the hall.

Joe stayed on the couch.

Watched the dust shift in the sun.

And didn't move.

Papa's words from earlier circled back to him.

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

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

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

Joe closed his eyes. Opened them.

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

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

It terrified him.

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

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

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

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

But maybe that was the wrong question.

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

Don't flinch when it gets big.

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

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

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

He was in love with Riley Carter.

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

* * *

Instagram (gossip/fan pages)

@nfltea:

🫣 Is that… Joe Burrow at MSY?

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

@rileycarterupdates:

We’re not saying it’s Joe Burrow.

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

🤭🧢✈️

📍MSY ➡️ Uptown NOLA? 👀

@tigerkingfans:

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

@deuxmoi (anonymous tip):

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

📍New Orleans

RileyCarterNews "BREAKING:

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

DeuxMoi Recent DM

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

Joe Burrow Updates:

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

Comments:

@RileyCarterUpdates

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

Day before Joe Burrow was allegedly seen arriving at MSY 👀

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

@lsuloyalist:

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

@rileyfanaccount:

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

@sneakybutsexy:

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

@rileysleftcurl:

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

@whodatwatcher:

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

On Megan's crawfish boil carousel:

X(Twitter)

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

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

@SportsGossipGuru

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

📍Louis Armstrong Airport (Friday)

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

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

Not confirming anything… but this is not nothing.

@softlaunchdetective:

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

@notmyquarterback:

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

@swampgirlie:

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

@NFLDetectiveSociety:

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

@SocialSleuthing:

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

@NFLGossip_Tea:

"The camera work in Megan's stories today:

@SocialSleuthing:

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

@NFLGossip_Tea:

"The camera work in Megan's stories today:

Pans left: Uncle playing spoons ✅

Pans right: Riley dancing ✅

Pans center: [REDACTED] ❌

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

youtube

#joe burrow #jiley #hide fanfic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow series #joe burrow smut #Youtube

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butchreg · 6 months ago

Text

baby boy ( ~ 2k words )

requested by @lottiesboy !! my first time writing a real fic in a while so i hope it's okay , i may be a little rusty . :\ mid way though i realized i was Not following the prompt as well as i meant to .. i was thinking more about repressing regression than having trouble with it ough . it has the same support && message of "it's okay to be tiny" so i'm still posting because YES but if you'd like me to rewrite it differently i can it just may take another while . tomorrow i get to go home for the first time since coming to uni i'm so super excited !! i should have more time to write && stuff then . :3 yellowjackets masterlist here , upcoming list here ^_^

summary : you're having a hard time right now && need some help regressing from your mamas . they help you to see that it's okay to be tiny !

tags / warnings : hurt comfort , sfw agere , boyre , mama ! lottie , mommy ! shauna , little ! masc reader , romantic lottieshauna / butcherqueen , yellowjackets x reader , baby yells at mama :C , but everything turns out well :3

You’ve been extremely quiet the whole day since returning from class, something abnormal for you. Usually you come home full of stories for Lottie and Shauna, hardly being able to wait until dinnertime to tell them both at once. Today has been different though. When you got home you ran straight to your room, hardly even mumbling a hello to Shauna who’d been reading on the couch let alone asking where Lottie was (her beloved garden). She’d not even had a chance to react before your door slammed loudly. You’ve been upstairs locked in your room ever since, despite soft knocking on the door from Shauna and then later Lottie asking you what’s the matter and assuring you they’re here for you. You ignored this, despite wanting to let them in, because you just didn’t want to talk. God, you're tired.

You sigh as you hear another knock on your door. It’s Lottie. “Hi there, prince. I just wanted to check in on you…” She pauses before adding, “Mommy made your favorite if you’re feeling ready for dinner.” Your ears perk up at that. You are getting pretty hungry… Slowly you get up and move to the door, opening it a crack. This earns a smile from Lottie. “There you are.”

You don’t reply, emerging from your room without a word and shuffling slowly towards the staircase with Lottie close on your tail. She doesn’t push you to talk which you’re grateful for. You peek your head into the kitchen where Shauna is at the stove. Lottie is soon behind you, placing a hand on your back, urging you into the kitchen. You squirm at the touch. It’s not that it’s unwanted, it's just that you’re not small right now. You don’t need to be babied, you have things to do. Adult things. Noticing your apparent discomfort, Lottie removes her hand, swiftly moving to put her hands on Shauna’s shoulders, placing a kiss on her cheek from behind.

“Smells good, my darling.” Shauna’s cheeks flush with pleasure though you can’t see it. Lottie whispers something in her ear about getting you to come down, which embarrasses you. You pretend you didn’t hear; only a child would make a stink about something like that. And you’re not a child.

Shauna turns around to face you offering a warm smile. “Why don’t you sit down, love. I’ll make you a plate.” You shake your head, reaching to open the cabinet and grab a plate yourself. She places a gentle hand on your arm stopping you. “Come on, I insist. I can tell you had a hard day, let me do this for you.” You take a step back, wanting to say something. You open your mouth with intent to talk back but instead you heave a sigh. Obediently you go over to the table, sinking down in your usual chair. You notice one of them has filled a sippy cup with milk and placed it at your spot. You cringe, shoving it away harder than you mean to, knocking it over in the process.

Lottie notices immediately. “Hmmm looks like someone’s fussy tonight.” Your eyes widen and you let out a sound almost like a growl in frustration.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. I’M NOT LITTLE!” You yell and the volume of your voice surprises even you. Lottie shrinks back, her shocked expression hitting you like a slap in the face. Immediately you apologize three, four, five times, your head sinking into your hands. Lottie regains her composure quickly, speaking softly. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have assumed. You’ve had a tough day, you’re allowed to feel angry.”

You’re quiet again. Shauna places a steaming plate in front of you, and you mumble a thank you feeling embarrassed at your behavior and your caretakers’ responses to it. “A meal would be good for you right now.” You lift your head up and nod.

“Thank you…” you repeat, unsure of what else to say.

“Would you like to eat by yourself or can Mama and I stay?”Shauna asks gently. You’re not sure why she’s being so nice. You’ve been hiding in your room all afternoon; you just yelled at Lottie. Your eyes fill with tears. “You can stay,” you choke out. “Please stay,” you add.

Having made herself a plate, Lottie comes to sit down next to you, immediately noticing your tears. “There, there.” She pats the hand resting next to your fork. “Are you ready to tell us what’s the matter?” You shrug. When Shauna sits down and gestures to your plate you pick up your fork and start eating, having a few bites before you say anything else.

“It’s just… everything is hard recently. I’ve been working so much but every day there’s something new to add to the list. I just don’t want to get behind.”

“Mhmm,” Lottie hums letting you know she’s listening. She squeezes your hand to show support, Shauna giving you a sympathetic look from across the table. You sigh, pushing onwards. “It’s not that I don’t want to regress or want to be good and all that… It’s just I can’t right now. I have more important things to do now that I’m at uni.” You sniffle.

“Is that how you really feel? That your regression is unimportant?” Lottie’s tone is soft. You shrug.

“Oh honey,” Shauna starts. “Your regression is important. If it helps you cope and makes you feel better then it’s super important.” She goes on seeming to pick up on what you didn’t say as well. “Your well being is what’s most important to us. Whether you’re regressed or not you will never be a burden to us, isn’t that right Lottie?”

Lottie nods. “Oh 100%. You’re our boy whether big or small.”

“Is that why you’re so upset today, baby?” Shauna asks you. You hesitate before nodding. She lets out a sympathetic “Awww.”Upon hearing your stomach growl loudly she motions toward your plate. “How about you finish your dinner and then we can talk more. You must be hungry.”

You nod, obediently picking up your fork and beginning to eat. “There’s a good boy,” Shauna smiles and Lottie pats your hand again. You blush, focusing on your food. You finish first and wait for Shauna and Lottie to do the same, staying silent. Your eyes are drawn to the sippy cup of milk, still knocked over. A kind of ache begins to settle over you. The frustration and hurt of the recent days slowly begin to dissipate, and you get the strong urge to pick up the cup and drink from it. But you can’t. You don’t feel even remotely small, and you’d feel too silly to drink from a sippy cup while big.

Shauna notices you staring at it and at your empty plate. She and Lottie look at one another and Lottie nods. “Here buddy, if you’re all done why don’t I take your plate for you? Do you want to drink your milk?” You shrug, unable to look at her.

“Sort of but… I don’t feel little…” You flush red.

“Would you like to?” Shauna asks you and you flush an even deeper red, almost purple. You nod, feeling too embarrassed to speak. Lottie chuckles, scratching the top of your head. “All right then. Why don’t I take your plate and Mama can go grab some pjs? Would that be okay?” You nod some more still blushing.

“Oh don’t look so embarrassed, silly boy. It’s okay if you want to be small.” You open your mouth as if to protest and she gives you a look. “I promise that. There is nothing wrong with you regressing! I’ll tell you as many times as you need me to.” You hide your face, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Your mamas are too sweet.

Shauna picks up all three of your plates going over to the sink to wash them. You notice she leaves the sippy cup which you pick back up so it’s no longer on its side. She gives you a wink. “Let’s leave it out in case you want it a little later, hm?” You nod, following Lottie as she goes out of the kitchen and back upstairs to go pick you out some pajamas.

She opens the hall closet full of your regression items, ranging from clothes to toys to bottles and diapers. You’re a little embarrassed upon seeing those but Lottie ignores them, instead focusing on the row of pajamas. “What are we thinking, big guy?” She pulls out a few options, a pair of puppy printed ones, and a set of footies patterned with trains.

You slowly reach out for the puppy ones, feeling a little awkward as you still don’t feel quite little. “Can you get dressed by yourself or do you want mama’s help?” she asks gently. She gives you another reassuring smile.

You laugh a little nervously. “I can do it myself.” She nods, turning her back as you slip into the bathroom to get changed. “You can go downstairs, ma- Lottie. I’ll be quick.” You realize your mistake after it’s done, glad Lottie can’t see you blushing as a result. Maybe you’re starting to feel a little small.

“Are you sure, bud?”

“Mhmm.”

Still you can’t help but smile at the fact that she’s still standing outside when you finish changing. She coos upon seeing you and you suddenly feel shy. “You didn’t have to wait…”

“I know, but you’ve had a hard day today. I didn’t want to leave you up here all by yourself.”

You don’t respond, allowing her to guide you back downstairs, this time into the living room. You’re surprised when you walk in to find Shauna with your sippy cup and a big blanket, a cartoon now playing on the tv. It’s Garfield, your favorite. You stop in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the screen, already feeling smaller than you were a few minutes ago.

Lottie feigns shock gasping and pointing. “Who’s that, baby?”

“GARFIELD!” You shout excitedly not looking away. Shauna chuckles.

“Shh, mama and I are right here, buddy,” she gently scolds. “But aren’t you a smart boy?” You giggle. “Why don’t you come sit down?” Shauna pats the seat on the couch next to her. “Mommy could use a little cuddle,” she continues and you run over to her, eager to oblige.

Lottie sits down on your other side. “Room for me?” You giggle.

“Of course! Silly Mama.” You hold onto her hand while you’re snuggling with Shauna. She plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Such a sweet little one. Is my boy starting to feel small?” As you slip further you become less anxious and awkward about your regressing. You nod unapologetically.

Shauna is still holding your sippy cup in her free hand, now offering it to you. “Are you ready for some milk, honey?”You nod, making grabby hands for the sippy cup. Shauna tries to place it in your hand but you whine shaking your head. “Oh? What’s the matter?”

“Mommy give me.” Shauna looks a little confused but Lottie seems to understand.

“I think he wants you to feed it to him, darling,” she whispers loudly. You nod.

“Oh! Why of course my sweet boy.” You giggle, kicking your feet a little. You get yourself settled in her lap and she holds the cup up to your mouth allowing you to drink. After the big dinner you had it doesn’t take you very long to get full. You turn your head to the side, refusing the rest of the milk.

“Oh, is baby all done?”You nod, babbling a little in response, feeling super tiny. She chucks your chin, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You stifle a yawn but Shauna catches it. “Looks like somebody’s getting sleepy.”

“Nuh uh,” you try to say but you really are. “Stay.”

“Okay, buddy. We can stay down here a little longer but if you’re sleepy we gotta get you to beddy bye.” You babble, trying to let her know how very wide awake you are thank you very much! Still, you don’t even make it through one more episode of your show before falling fast asleep in Mommy’s lap with your head resting on Mama’s shoulder.

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kyoshithewriter · 8 days ago

Text

Bambi (Part four)

Warnings: smut, angst, morally… something(18+)

Wc: 3.5k

A/n: And this is the finally part of this series but I definitely want to write more Virgil. No more of this toxic mess though even though I lowkey enjoyed writing this. Remember this is fiction and we don’t condone this behaviour🤭. Anyway, enjoy?

Renée forces a furrow between her brows and a small frown on her mouth, feigning confusion.

“Am I?” She somehow manages to keep her voice from wobbling.

“Ah! The store! Remember you had an accident and my husband helped.”

“Oh!” Renée drops her head, forcing a small chuckle. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Quite a coincidence…” the woman trails off. She eyes her more intently. Renée’s heart leaps.

“How long have you been living here?”

Renée pauses a minute. There’s a prickly feeling that if she says that she moved here recently it’ll raise suspicion. She’s not sure what the woman is thinking but she’s desperately hoping she doesn’t connect the dots.

“Um, almost two years now?”

“Ah okay. You’ve been here a while.”

The elevator finally reaches the fourth floor; the doors slide open and Renée could cry in relief.

“Um, this is me.” She shuffles out while throwing an awkward wave in the woman’s direction.

The woman gives her a small smile.

“Have a good day.”

The doors finally close. Renée sags against the wall, sucking in greedy breaths to tame her erratic heartbeat. She turns to sprint shamelessly to her apartment but freezes in shock when she opens her door. Virgil is still in her apartment, posture ramrod straight on her couch. She hurries to shut the door.

“What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you see my message?!” She whisper-yells- genuinely fearing her voice may travel through the walls.

“I did. But if I tried getting upstairs now I’d get caught.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You could’ve taken the stairs! You would’ve gotten there before her.” Renée wrings her hands together as anxiety buzzes under her skin.

“Yea, looking frazzled and smelling like I rolled around in a lavender field. I’ll just tell her I stepped out a bit.” He eyes her, body locked tight with tension.

“But, your car is in the parking lot.”

“I called an uber. Where were you, Renée?”

She can’t help the way she gapes at him like he suddenly sprouted another limb.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I swear on everything Ren-”

The shrill tone from his phone blaring cuts him off. He glares at her, but stands to head down the hallway to answer her call. The woman who’s currently in the building. Upstairs. And yet he only cares about where she has been. Snippets of their conversation float down the hallway.

“I’m sorry, love.” “No, baby, you did nothing wrong.” “I’m an asshole.” “I’ll be home soon.” “I love you.”

Renée wants to break something. Preferably his fucking nose. She isn’t sure if it’s because she’s jealous or because she’s so angry that she was in that awkward situation earlier while he only seemed to care that nobody else touched her. They were almost caught and she is more panicked than he is. He re-emerges from the hallway and Renée recognizes that look on his face all too well. Confrontational. It’s about to get messy.

“I’m not doing this with you, Virgil. Your wife is probably still in the building. You need to shower and leave.”

The man scoffs at her disbelief.

“You actually went to see him.”

“Yes I did. Now what?”

“I have to shower and get home, but I’m coming back later. You better be here or we’re gonna have a problem.” His voice is stern with the warning. It reminds her of how her father used to caution her against staying out past curfew time. Pity for both men that Renée breaks the rules anyway.

She eyes him almost maliciously when he’s freshly showered and smells like his signature cologne and aftershave again. The man marches toward her door glaring in her direction before he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. And Renée, Renée is feeling very spiteful.

[Ren. 2:05 pm]: Hey Stephen. I have the night off. Are you doing anything later?

***************

Adjusting the strapless, black corset top that emphasizes her ample chest, Renée eyes her distorted reflection in her car mirror. The top shows off a slither of her lower belly just above the long, form fitting black skirt. Her curly hair is in an intricate up-do with a few curls falling loosely to frame her face. Gold earrings dangle from her ears and match her necklace as well as bracelets and rings. She looks good. There’s an underlying feeling of guilt that almost makes her queasy; Stephen is about to eye her like a goddess on earth and call her the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, while Renée knows she dressed like this for one reason and it has nothing to do with him. She wants to post herself so Virgil sees. She’s mostly doing this entire thing to get a rise out of him. She often ponders if she’s anywhere near being a good person and these last few months have not been helping her case. Stephen is already inside the restaurant waiting on her. They agreed to do dinner at one of the fancier restaurants in town. La Belle Époque is an intimate, modern restaurant that clearly caters to couples based on the ambience. The space is lit with candle bulbs hanging from the ceiling and on top of the tables. The furniture is all made from rustic cherry like wood. It’s beautiful. The hostess leads her to Stephen’s table after she whispers his last name to her in a daze. Renée is slowly realizing that Stephen comes from money. From the way he talks, the cars he drives and the places he takes her without allowing her to spend a single cent. The man stands to greet her as soon as she’s in view; he’s wearing a suit jacket over a white button down and a pair of jeans. His hair slicked back. He’s handsome. Oh how she wishes her heart wasn’t stuck on a married man ten years her senior. It would be so easy to love Stephen.

“You’re unreal.” He whispers in awe as she steps out of his embrace.

She smiles shyly at him as he pulls her chair out from the table.

“You clean up nicely yourself.” She sends him a teasing wink that makes his cheeks burn red.

“You have the most beautiful eyes ever.”

If Renée has learned anything else from her time at Onyx it’s how to do her makeup to accentuate her eyes: shorter, wispy lashes with a hint of white eyeliner underneath makes them even more prominent.

“You think so?” She blinks up at him just to watch him blush even deeper.

“I know so. I could write sonnets about them.”

“I’d love to hear one, one day.”

She joins his soft laughter with a series of airy giggles. She’s about to reach for her menu when a familiar gaze burns her skin. ‘It can’t be, I must be imagining it.’ Renée grabs the menu and subtly sweeps the restaurant with her eyes while Stephen chatters on about the food. Her breath hitches and her heart palpitates in her chest when she looks at the table directly in front of them. There’s a brunette seated with her back turned to her table, but right in front of her is a very familiar pair of angry brown eyes glaring right at her. She almost wants to laugh at her luck. It is the nicest place in town according to google, but of course he’d be here tonight. With her. She immediately figures it’s an apology dinner of some kind based on the conversation he had with her earlier today. Virgil raises his glass of wine to his lips, eyeing her over the rim as he takes deep, long gulps.

“Have you decided yet? Waitress is on her way over.” Stephen’s voice pulls her attention back to their table. Right, she’s here with Stephen. Fuck.

“Um-” she clears her throat with a little more force than necessary; “could you order for me? I trust your choices.” She forces a smile that feels lopsided on her face.

“I’m gonna blow your mind.”

Renée offers little hums and awkward smiles as the night progresses. Stephen, none the wiser, keeps smiling and complimenting her every chance he gets. But Renée feels heavy; his stare burdens her down so much it feels like physical weight on her heaving chest. Her eyes drift over in his direction again. He nods absentmindedly to whatever the woman in front of him is saying but his eyes never stray. She can see the anger, the hunger—the promise of whatever sinister plans he’s currently conjuring up in his head for her.

“Um, bathroom… I need to- bathroom.” She rushes out while grabbing her purse. In her haste to shove the chair back, she stumbles a little but quickly rights herself before awkwardly galloping past tables near the hallway.

She almost falls face- first onto the bathroom floor in her haste to get inside. Renée passes all the empty stalls to enter the one furthest away from the door.

“What the fuck.” She whines under her breath, realizing that her panties are sticking to her skin. Just a few minutes under his heated gaze and she’s wet. She feels pathetic. The bathroom door is suddenly flung open. Her heart, already racing a mile a minute, almost explodes in her chest from the sound.

“Fuck, relax.” She sucks in a deep breath. ‘It’s just some woman who desperately needs to use the restroom.

Footsteps echo around the empty space and Renée belatedly realizes that they’re coming closer. She pauses, breath stuck in her lungs. ‘Surely he wouldn’t enter the women’s room… right?

Certainly not.

She opts to ignore whoever is outside her stall as she takes a minute to collect herself. Straightening her spine, Renée swings the door to her stall open— a scream gets caught in her throat as she’s shoved back inside the stall and a big body crowds her space.

“Virg, you can’t-”

The click of the lock sliding in place makes her words trail off into a weird wheeze. Renée blinks up at him timidly. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed, eyes cold.

“Who’s that, Renée?” He asks calmly.

“You sh- shouldn’t be in here.”

“Are you going to make me ask again?”

His hands reach to slowly tug her skirt up her legs. Renée stands still; afraid to even breathe too loudly.

“It’s Stephen.” She whispers. In moments like this, she’s a bit intimidated. She knows he won’t hurt her, but she understands when he’s not in the mood to play around. She can’t afford to make a scene in the bathroom of the fancy establishment.

He rolls her skirt up until he’s able to bundle the hem in his hands. Goosebumps rise along her legs as the cool air caresses her skin.

“What did I tell you about him, Renée?”

“Virgil, that’s not fair. You’re here with your wife and you’re pressing me ab-”

He spins her around and presses his hard body against her back. One hand skims the length of her left thigh before slithering between her legs. He sucks in a sharp breath feeling her wet against his fingertips.

“This for me or Stephen, Renée?”

His voice is gruff on the shell of her ear. The sound of the bathroom door swinging open sounds distant through the ringing in her ear.

“Do I have to ask again?”

“You! You were staring and I…” she whispers hastily, afraid their voices will carry.

He gives her no warning before shifting her panties to the side and sliding his middle and ring finger in her easily. His other hand immediately clamps around her mouth to muffle her whimper. The gold band feels cold against her cheek. It adds a whole level to the debauchery. Tears immediately prick her eyes and her legs tremble. The sound of flushing, then water from a tap as an older sounding woman hums innocently while Renée tries not to lose her mind in his hold. He buries his fingers deeper to rub at that particular spot that makes her knees buckle. He waits until the door swings open again, signaling the woman’s exit before he speaks.

“Be home at 9 and not a minute later. Do you hear me?”

Renée can only nod her head in agreement. The man drags his fingers out. Unhurried. For her to feel every inch of his fingers against her walls. Then he reaches for her thong to drag it down her legs. Renée’s brain is too cloudy to question it as she obediently lifts her feet to step out of them. Virgil re-adjusts her skirt and carefully turns her to face him. She blinks her teary eyes up at him. Her eyes widen when he bundles her thong and shoves in the pocket of his slacks. He sucks his glistening fingers between his lips, staring at her as he does.

Renée can only gape at him until he exits the stall.

She returns to the table on shaky legs to see their food has arrived.

“Hey. You’ve been in there a while. Are you okay?” Stephen asks clearly concerned.

“Uh yeah, just… I thought I got my period and panicked. This all looks good.”

Renée tries not to cringe at the wetness between her thighs as she sits.

“Let’s dig in.”

“Yeah. I want to get home before nine… to catch up on some work.”

*****************

The sound of the cuffs rattling sounds amplified and she’s pretty sure it’s because of the blindfold over her eyes. She’s hyperware of every breath— of every sound, like the sound of his footsteps as he lingers somewhere just behind just to watch her squirm. Renée shifts on her knees, but she’s mindful to keep her back arched so that she’s spread open just the way he wants her. She’s sure he can see her thighs tremble and the mess she’s making between her legs.

“Virg, please.” She begs desperately.

“Please what, Renée?”

“Please touch me.”

“But I have been touching you, baby.”

A finger presses lightly on her clit to emphasize his point. Renée jerks forward with a sob.

“Make me come, please. It’s- it hurts, Virg.”

The man has been bringing her to the brink of pleasure and denying her for almost thirty five minutes now— interchanging between his mouth, his fingers and the toy that’s suddenly buzzing again.

“Do you deserve it though?”

“I’m sorry! I said ‘m sorry.”

“So I should let you off because you apologized?”

His palm spans her lower back.

“And I came home in time like you said.” She whimpers softly as his hand massages her cheeks.

“Mhmmm, good point.”

The toy touches the hard bundle of nerves and Renée screams. He doesn’t let up. She barely has time to brace herself before the pressure snaps. Tears wet her blindfold as the orgasm tears through her body like an unrelenting storm.

“Virg- no more.”

She drops flat on her belly to escape the vibrations.

He tutts at her; “You said you wanted to come and now you’re running?”

He hoists her up back to her knees, pressing against her lower back until she finds the perfect arch again.

“B-but, it’s too much.” She cries weakly.

“You can take it.”

He keeps on her until she’s grunting through a fourth orgasm that rushes through her so violently she feels lightheaded.

“B-bambi.”

He removes the toy as soon as the word gets past her trembling lips. The word they agreed upon a few weeks into their arrangement to be used when Virgil pushes her over her limit.

“You did so well, sweetheart.”

He unlocks the handcuffs and immediately places gentle kisses to her wrists. Renée turns and clings to him as he removes the blindfold from her eyes and peppers kisses all over her face.

“My pretty baby.” He coos sweetly.

He cuddles her to his body until her tremors cease.

“How do you feel?”

His chest rumbles against her back soothingly.

“Raw.” She admits. “But…” she reaches down to palm him through his boxers.

“I want you in my mouth, need to taste you.”

Virgil groans in her ear.

Renée shuffles down the bed and straddles his legs. He reclines fully against her bed, a hand resting behind his head. The perfect picture of relaxed. Composed. Sexy.

He brushes a thumb to her cheek as she pulls his boxers down. Her mouth waters. It stands proudly, jutting upward after a few bobs.

Renée teases at the tip with her tongue, just to watch the muscles in his belly clench. He’s a bit salty and tastes of his unique musk that makes something in her belly spasm. Closing her soft lips around him, she looks up at him. Renée hides her satisfied grin at the string of guttural curses mixed with her name that falls helplessly from his lips before she relaxes her throat and goes to work.

***************

A month passes uneventfully. Renée is back in school and things with Virgil are just as they were the first couple of months they met because she has been keeping Stephen at arm’s length. Renée is no fool, she hasn’t completely cut him off; but she finds excuses to not hang out with him often to avoid Virgil’s nagging. She has only been to Onyx four times in the past month in secret; she wants to appease the older man but she is also wise enough to not burn her bridges. She brings Diego a lot of money in on Friday nights to ensure she’s still in his good graces so she’ll always have him to fall back on just in case she needs it. Renée does an awkward jog into the apartment lobby to escape the light drizzle that has become common in the past week. Mumbling a quiet greeting to the security guard, she ambles toward the elevator. However, her feet pause before she reaches her destination. The brunette is all too familiar and Renée is seeing her a lot more than she’d like. The woman smiles at her but it doesn’t reach her icy blue eyes.

She presses the button to call the elevator as she eyes her.

Renée gulps. The doors slide open and the woman gestures inside. The message is clear. Get in. She swallows before walking inside and the woman joins her.

“What was your name again?”

“Um… Ren.”

“Ren. How beautiful are you? Hm?” The woman says almost sadly.

“And your smell— powdered lavender. It’s lovely. I had some trouble placing it. It was subtle on his jacket but still…”

Renée’s shoulders hunch in shame. She knows where this is going.

“Then I remembered. In this very elevator a few weeks ago.” She chuckles but it’s without amusement.

“Did you know?”

Renée knows what she’s asking. “Did you know he has a wife? A family?” Shame sits heavy in her stomach like a boulder. She hugs herself wishing she could disappear in her own skin.

“Yes.” She whispers softly.

The woman inhales a shuddering breath.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

“Okay.”

The doors slide open on the fourth floor and Renée reluctantly walks out, eyeing the woman all the while. Afraid that maybe she would attack her. She can’t say she wouldn’t deserve it.

She turns to watch the woman who remains inside the metal box. The brunette smiles weakly at her.

“Have a good day, Ren.”

The doors slide close before the first teardrop falls.

Renée runs to her apartment and throws up until there’s nothing but bitter, acrid bile burning the back of her throat.

****************

The text comes a week later after not hearing from him since that eventful day. First, it was a notification from her banking app. The figure had so many zeros in it that it actually managed to draw a reaction from her numb body. Then the message:

[Virgil. 12:54 pm]: Renée, I’m so sorry but I can’t see you anymore. She found out, and she told me what happened. She threatened to bring this to the media and to get a divorce if she suspects we’re seeing each other again. You know that’s not something that can happen. I sent you enough money to get through your final year and find a decent apartment in the next two weeks because you can’t stay there anymore. You can even take a trip if you wish to. I’m so sorry, baby and I wish you nothing but the best.

Renée knew they wouldn��t have a happy ending but it doesn’t lessen the blow. She stares at the message as tears slowly blur her vision— until she’s wailing in the empty apartment that she soon has to abandon with all the memories they made in it.

*************

Bambi is back like she never left. It took a month after moving to finally leave her apartment to go somewhere else apart from school and the grocery store. But after she returned full time to Onyx, she pushed her heartbreak to the deepest crevice of her brain. The attention from men, the busy schedule, it all works as her personal drug. It distracts, it numbs. She’s fine. She feels better. It’s her fourth month since her return to the club that she feels it. She thinks she’s hallucinating, but as the night progresses, Diego comes over to whisper in her ear.

“No main stage tonight, Bambi. He’s here. Room number four.”

The tall figure moves like a ninja in the shadows in the dimly lit space from the vip to the stairs to head down the hallway.

And Renée? Renée smirks. All too happy to fall back into the toxic cycle because he’s just as irresistible to her as she is to him.

#football #black woman #virgil van dijk x black reader #virgil van dijk x reader #virgil van dijk #vvd #football fanfic

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pinkslipxox · 6 months ago

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hi, can you write about billie giving her first interview after their first daughter is born.

baby is 6 months and it’s Billie’s first time travelling after she was born. she talks a little about being a mom, how she thought she wouldn’t even perform again, once she felt so fulfilled by maternity. and then baby and mommy sent billie a message

thank you, i adore your writing

hi my love! yes, I hope you like it! And thank you so much 🤗🙈

——————————————————————————

The bright studio lights cast a gentle glow over the set as Billie settled into a plush armchair for her interview. She was looking radiant, her signature style softened by the warmth of new motherhood. As the host kicked off the segment, the ambiance was relaxed, and Billie’s playful spirit shone through, drawing laughs from the audience with her witty remarks.

As they transitioned to the topic of family, the host leaned in with an inviting smile, asking, “Billie, you’ve recently become a mother. How has that changed your perspective on life and music?”

Billie’s eyes sparkled, a hint of emotion flickering across her face. “Honestly, I never thought I’d be this fulfilled,” she began, her voice softening. “Emma, my little girl… she’s like a dream come true. I thought I might even stop performing for a while because just being her mom feels like enough, you know?”

The audience watched intently as she spoke about her daughter, her passion evident. Billie continued, “Y/N and I talked about it a lot. I was scared that maybe I wouldn’t want to tour anymore, but then I realized that it’s not so much about the music as it is about the connection. I just… I really love being a mom.”

As she shared stories of 6-month-old Emma, Billie’s voice began to tremble slightly when she mentioned her wife. “And Y/N, oh my God. She’s the best partner I could ever ask for. She’s so supportive and loving… I can’t even express how much of a rock she is for both me and Emma.”

Billie paused for a moment, blinking back tears. “It’s like, I always thought love was deep, but then you become a parent, and it’s a whole new level. Just seeing Y/N with Emma, it just melts my heart.”

The host grinned, undoubtedly charmed by the authenticity radiating from Billie. “It’s clear you’re balancing both worlds beautifully. Any plans for new music?”

“Slowly, but I think I’ve got some little ideas brewing.” Billie replied, her expression shifting to a playful smirk. “I’ll probably end up writing songs about diaper changes or sleepy nights instead of heartbreak at this point!” The audience erupted with laughter, lightening the emotional ambiance.

Once the interview wrapped up, Billie stepped off the set and let out a breath she'd been holding. The raw moments she'd shared had left her feeling a bit vulnerable but also incredibly empowered. Being a mother had filled a part of her life she hadn’t realized was so essential.

As she walked to her trailer, her phone buzzed with a new message. She instinctively smiled, her heart leaping in anticipation as she opened it. The screen lit up with a picture from Y/N, showcasing their adorable daughter Emma, a little sunshine in her precious onesie, flashing a gummy smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

Next to Emma, Y/N looked radiant, holding their baby tightly, her smile unmistakable. The way her eyes sparkled with joy warmed Billie’s heart, reminding her of why she cherished their little family so deeply.

Accompanying the photo was Y/N’s sweet message: “We’re so proud of you today. Emma can’t wait to hear about your interview! You are so strong and so loved. Come home soon, mama ❤️.”

Billie’s heart swelled as she read Y/N’s words. She could already imagine Emma reaching her tiny hands toward Billie when she walked through the door, and the thought brought tears to her eyes yet again—happy tears.

She quickly typed her response, her fingers moving with love. “I love you both so much! Can’t wait to hold you both in my arms. You’re my everything 😍.”

With a beaming smile and a heart full of love, Billie leaned back against her trailer wall. The short glimpse of her family and the powerful connection they shared grounded her in the midst of her whirlwind life. Music was part of who she was, but that love—her family—was the soul of it all, and it fueled her in a way she never imagined possible.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish blurb

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httpkaulitz · 1 year ago

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Bill x female reader 2009 era

Bill has his studio at home of course so he doesn't have to always leave yn alone .

He texsts her to come to tbe studio because he wants to make her listen to human connect to human so she goes.

As she listens to the song she realizes it's about them and she starts to tease him leading then to tbe bedroom 😇

Human conect to human

PAIRINGS: Bill 2009 x Female reader

CONTENT: Smut

SYNOPSIS: Bill writes a song about you two and you decide to tease him.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, p in v, kissing

A/N: One of my favorite songs so of course i got carried a bit

Because Bill had a busy routine, he always prioritized as much time as he could spend by your side, which is why he decided to create a studio at home, so he could spend time with you between work breaks and always stay close.

He had been working on a song for a few days now and although he didn't talk much about it, you knew he was excited.

You had gone out to buy some things when you received the message from Bill asking you to go straight to the studio when you get home. And you ran home, curious to know what he had to show you.

As soon as you entered the studio you could tell how excited he was just by the way he looked at you. Bill always seemed like a ball of energy when he was happy and excited.

Without saying anything he handed you the headphones and put the music on. You listened intently as he waited anxiously. Even if you don't understand music in a technical sense, Bill was always very appreciative of your opinion.

You paid attention to the lyrics and noticed many similarities in your relationship with Bill. You had to fight a small smile.

Bill never hid that his life was a source of inspiration for his songs, but he had never been inspired by you or your relationship before.

After a few minutes the song ended and you took off your headphones.

“So, what did you think?” He asked anxiously.

Deciding to provoke him, you said seriously. “It’s a bit provocative compared to what you’re used to writing, isn’t it?”

His gaze quickly changed from excited to surprised, clearly not expecting that answer.

"You didn't like it?" You almost felt bad of how his voice sounded.

“Oh, I really liked it.” You said as you slowly approached him. “I wonder what could have inspired you to write something like that.”

You watched his ears turn a shade of red and he was quiet for a moment as if he had been caught.

“Nothing in specific.” He whispered as you traced circles on his chest through his shirt, looking at him closely.

“Oh, really?” You hummed looking through your eyelashes. He knew you already knew about it, but you liked playing and so did he.

You stood on your tiptoes and whispered in his ear, making him close his eyes. “A kiss, a touch, never enough, so soft, so hard, don't stop, you start. Instinctive skills, like animals.” Bill sighed before opening his eyes again.

“So it’s not about us?” You asked innocently, lowering one of the straps of your dress drawing his attention to your now exposed skin.

You smile, standing on tiptoe to get closer to his face. One of your hands ran down his chest until it reached the front of his pants. You could feel the hardness under your palm. And you smiled before squeezing gently.

Bill brings his face closer to yours, but before he could kiss you you hook your hand on his belt and pull him out of the studio. The path to your room seems longer than you remember.

As soon as you entered the room you began to undo his belt, Bill seemed almost in a trance, he closed his eyes eager to be touched. You had to take advantage of the opportunity because you weren't always able to overpower him. He waited, but you didn't do anything else.

"I won't touch you until you answer my question." You said in a firm tone making him open his eyes to look at you. Bill bit his bottom lip, watching you mouth so close to his.

"I want you to kiss me." He whispered the first thing that came to mind, forgetting what question you had asked. Seeing you bring your face closer to his, he parted his lips and closed his eyes in expectation, only to then sigh in frustration when he felt you place a wet kiss on his jaw and nothing more.

"That's not what I asked." You said smiling ironically.

He whispered some things in German that you had no idea what meant, but from his tone he sounded frustrated.

"I want to hear you say it." You said, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly and pressing your bodies together. The feeling of his erection against your belly made him moan.

"I-I... I want you to touch me." He whispered, his voice cracking. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Bill wasn't the type to let himself be dominated for long, but you loved seeing him like this.

Keeping your body pressed against his, you fixed a strand of hair, taking the opportunity to caress the soft skin of his face.

"But I'm already touching you, my love." Bill knew you were playing with him, teasing him.

“Now tell me what you were thinking while you were writing that beautiful song.” You whispered before stretching your body, standing on your toes. Wrapping your arms around Bill's neck, you moved your hips against his, making him part his lips in surprise.

"Did you think about us fucking?" Running your fingers over his dark shirt. Bill nodded weakly shaking a little more each time you rubbed your hips against his.

"I would close my eyes and think of you in all kinds of positions." He said holding one of your hands that was now on his chest. “Thinking about the intoxicating sensation of being inside you.”

You watched as Bill slid your hand down his body, making you feel the subtle muscles on your palm. Reaching the edge of his shirt, you pulled away to help him take it off. Quickly discarding the piece somewhere in the room, you turned your attention to Bill's body. Your eyes roamed his naked torso, following the v-line as if they were the path to paradise.

You walked quickly closing the space and pressed your lips tightly against Bill's, feeling his taste on your tongue. He seemed surprised by your sudden actions, but quickly responded to the kiss with fervor. You wrapped your arms around Bill's neck and pressed your body against his, making sure there was no space between the two of you. After a few seconds he separated your lips from his, his mouth traveling every inch around your lips, kissing everything from the rosy skin of your cheeks to your jaw.

You let out a moan as Bill took control. You knew he would at some point. He kissed your neck, sucking the skin below your left ear making you pull his dark hair between your fingers, you moaned and rubbed your legs against his, feeling an electricity pass through your body.

"Bill..." You whispered in a moan, feeling his hands travel down your body, squeezing and caressing every little part.

The feeling was wonderful, but you needed more than furtive kisses and caresses. When your lips met again, Bill wrapped his arms around you and pushed you against the wall.

He grabbed your hips and lifted one of your legs, holding your thigh firmly. You sighed, unable to contain your excitement as your tongues fought, occasionally moaning against each other's mouths. Gaining dominance again for a moment, your hands traveled down Bill's chest until reaching his pants, skillfully opening the button without breaking the kiss, you grabbed the edges of his pants, pushed them down and smiled when Bill's lips parted. He kicked his shoes, socks and pants away and kissed you again.

You felt Bill's hands travel up the fabric of your dress and into the slit, his hand moving up until he was caressing the skin of your stomach. He was quick, holding your thighs, spreading them open. He slid his hand between your legs and into your panties feeling the soft, wet skin against his fingers.

"Bill." You moaned and threw your head back, giving him opening to kiss and suck on your neck, while his skilled fingers made small circular movements against your clit.

"I love the way you taste." Bill said softly against the soft skin of your throat, before traveling back up to your lips. You could feel Bill's breath against your lips, you didn't need to open your eyes to know that he was watching you moan as you writhed against his fingers.

Bill smiled when you opened your eyes, which were now a darker shade. You kissed him quickly, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth making him moan instantly.

"I want you inside me." You said through moans, pulling him onto the bed.

"I'm all yours, love." Bill whispered following you, his hoarse voice clouded all your senses, you took a deep breath, pushed him sitting on the bed and then pulled the black boxers down his legs, discarding them in some corner of the room with the rest of your other clothes.

Bill watched your every move as if hypnotized. You smiled, moving the straps of your dress aside, letting it slowly slide down your body followed by your underwear. Bill stretched out his arms trying to pull you towards him but you slapped his hands away giving him a warning look.

You removed the clip holding your hair and placed it on the dresser next to the bed, taking your time. You smiled, watching how Bill bit his lower lip, looking at you in a mix of desire and impatience. Walking slowly over to him, you climbed into Bill's lap and slowly sank down on top of him. You tried to suppress the shudder at how good it felt to be in control. Bill groaned and closed his eyes, an expression of pure bliss on his face as you moved your hips.

"God, you're so hot." He whispered as he opened his eyes and smiled.

Bill leaned forward, his eyes on your lips, but you pushed him back, moving faster on him. Struggling to stay in control.

"You won't let me touch you?" He asked laughing, Bill pushed himself forward forcing his hips to slam against yours hard. You bit your lip to hold back a moan, feeling your face flush under his gaze.

"No." You responded hoarsely, excited by the way his smile grew wider in defiance.

"What if I don't obey you?" He asked, smiling mischievously before sliding one of his hands up to your left breast and squeezing it roughly. You bit your lower lip, slapping his hand away.

"You know I can't let you control for long, love." Bill held your hips and forced you down quickly, making you let out a little scream of surprise and pure ecstasy.

"Bill-" You swallowed your words and clung to his shoulders, when with a growl he thrust his hips again and you both simultaneously let out loud moans.

Not being able to escape Bill's dominance any longer, you began to move against him, your hands on the back of his neck for support. Bill's hands on your hips commanded each movement with a rough thrust. Then he leaned forward, buried one of his hands in your hair and pulled you in for a kiss.

You moaned, not realizing how much you wanted your lips against his until that moment. You ran your nails down Bill's shoulders and pulled him closer as the kiss intensified. You felt your movements becoming erratic and your legs starting to shake, unable to keep up with him.

You heard Bill murmur between moans and grunts, but you couldn't understand in the midst of all that euphoria. You screamed and closed your eyes tightly feeling the pleasure taking over your body. You felt a hand grab your throat, forcing you to open your eyes to look at him. Bill smiled widely, licking his lips as he looked at you with mischief and delight.

"I left you in control." He said slowly. "Now it's my turn to command."

You thought about answering him, but he leaned in and kissed you. In an instant, the almost gentle kiss turned into a primal need with tongues and teeth fighting against each other violently. Bill started to push himself into you again. Soon the pressure in your belly became unbearable and you threw your head back, not being able to contain your screams of pleasure.

Bill buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking the skin, you gasped in pain and pleasure. He spread open-mouthed kisses over your neck, smiling when he found a spot with a mole. You scratched Bill's back. Moaning, the name left your lips in hot breath. "Bill..."

The effect it had on him was immediate. His lips were back to your ear, breathlessly growling. “Say my name again.”

“Bill…” You complied with his request immediately, repeating his name in a moan over and over again. Bill clung tighter to your body, making you bury your face in the crook of his neck to hide your scream of pleasure.

He let out a loud moan that made your body shake. You held Bill's hair between your fingers, feeling your hands shake as he continued to move his hips.

You moaned loudly when his teeth grazed your neck and you felt another orgasm hit you again. Screaming loudly in his ear, clinging as close as you could. He managed to give one last, hard thrust before releasing himself too, moaning against your hair. He fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him. You just lay there on Bill's chest, wrapped in his arms, recovering from the post-orgasm ecstasy.

"This was amazing." He whispered smiling.

#tokio hotel #bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #2000s #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x reader

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 2 months ago

Note

i'm absolutely in love with the tim doing johnny's locs concept, immediate follow

AOUGH!! You actually have perfect timin cause I JUST finished this fic!! I hope ya like it!!! (as a lil treat for bein real sweet!!)

Whatta ya want, Cade?" Tim stands in the doorway, leanin' against the frame 'n blockin' his way in. Not that it's personal. Just a habit you pick up from livin' in a rough part a town long enough. "You only ever show up when you want somethin'."

Johnny tucks back a stray loc absently into his hood, shivers, 'n wraps his jacket tighter around his shoulders. "Runs in the neighborhood."

"Real funny, kid." Johnny rolls his eyes, has no problem lettin' Tim know he don't approve of Tim callin' him a kid when he's only a year 'n change older.

"Who the hell is it, Tim?" Curly's voice hollers from somewhere deep in the house 'n Tim scowls.

"Come see for your fuckin' self if you're so nosy." He half turns to shout back, swings the door open a lil' more.

"Ya gonna let me in or do I gotta beg at you're door all night." Tim's scowl deepens but he backs up to let Johnny in.

"Why do I even bother." Johnny toes his shoes off at the door, peers back into the apartment where Curly 'n Angela are sprawled over the couch 'n each other watchin' some show rerun, distractedly kickin' 'n shovin' every now 'n then. "Curly, get your ass up 'n actually fix dinner."

"In a goddamn minute! Oh, hey Johnny." Tim narrows his eyes, picks up a shoe 'n chucks it hard into the livin' room. His aim is surprisin'ly good 'n Curly lets out a sharp yelp in response as it connects with the back of his head, twistin' to throw it back. He misses 'n it hits the wall with a resoundin' thump.

"Asshole." Tim mutters 'n Curly flips him off before Anglea kicks him in the ribs for squirmin' so much 'n his attention is rapidly redirected.

"I almost forgot how fun y'all are." Johnny cracks a grin, neatly lines his boots up on habit at the door. Tim shoots him a look, rolls his eyes again, 'n jerks his head towards the kitchen. Johnny follows him as Tim starts bangin' around pots 'n pans as loud as possible.

"You just here to crash, Cade?" He bangs down a pot aggressively on the stovetop, lookin' over his shoulder to make sure Curly's gettin' the message.

"Naw, but I bet you're gonna wish I was." Tim stops slammin' shit around 'n glarin' at his kid brother to side-eye Johnny.

"You in some kinda trouble, Cade?"

"Always. But not tonight." He snorts a laugh, relaxes mildly, rips open a cabinet 'n starts shufflin' around dry pasta.

"So spit it out then." Johnny shifts, rocks back 'n forth on the balls of his feet.

"I was, uh, wonderin' if you could help me with my hair?" Tim abruptly drops the boxes he's holdin' 'n spins on his heel.

"Your hair? Jesucristo. Do you know what time it is? You know how long that shit takes?" Tim cocks an eyebrow, crosses his arms. They both instinctually glance at the glowin' clock over the oven.

Johnny puts his hands up placatingly. "Sorry, man. Look, don't worry about it. I can come back some other time."

Tim lets out a huff, rubs a hand over his face. "Entre tu y Curly, vas a ser mi muerte." He mutters, mostly to himself, 'n Curly spins around at the sound of his name, already glarin'.

"¿Qué fuck he hecho?" He scowls, one hand on Angela's head to hold her at arm's length as she thrashes around, intent on hittin' him again.

"Well, to start with, be born." Tim rolls his eyes, shakes his head, 'n looks back to Johnny. "Well, mi dios, sometime today, Cade."

"You ain't gonna like it." He reaches up 'n pushes his hood back, locs fallin' loosely back into his face. He shakes them out once, looks everywhere but Tim's face.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. Johnny. When the fuck was the last time your shit was done?" He hesitates a moment 'n Tim points a finger at him warningly. "'N if you say last time I did it I'm gonna shave you fuckin' bald."

"Uh, well now I don't wanna say it."

"Cade."

"I thought I could just leave 'em for a bit!" Johnny rubs a hand over the back of his neck, pointedly ignores Tim's baffled stare.

"On who's advice? I bet it was fuckin' Dallas. Estúpido blanco de mierda." 'N no one brought him up but now Tim's got himself on a tear so Johnny ain't gonna interrupt. "His white ass glows in the fuckin' dark. Don't know shit about shit. Motherfucker has white people hair 'n don't even know how to take care a that."

"He slash your tires again?" Tim cuts himself off, eyes Johnny.

"What gave it away."

"Just a lucky guess." Tim groans, massages at his temples, huffs out a sigh 'n comes to some kinda conclusion.

"Ay, you two." Curly 'n Angela have settled back in, barely glancin' back at Tim. "Turn that western bullshit off 'n find a rerun of the FBI. It's gonna be a long night."

They both immediately whip around to protest 'n Tim silences them with another well-placed throw that manages to clip both his younger siblings.

"Goddamn Tim, you should have gone fuckin' pro with that goddamn arm." Angela scowls but shoves Curly off of her 'n moves to change the channel.

Tim ignores her, turns back to Johnny, standin' therewith one eyebrow cocked. "Now what the hell are you lookin' at?"

"Nothin', nothin'. Just... cop shows?"

"Aw, don't you fuckin' start with me. I already hear it enough from fuckin' that one," he jabs a finger out at Curly, "'n Dal. Now hush your mouth 'n move your ass."

Tim cuts back into the living room 'n Johnny follows, hangin' back until Tim has manhandled, wrestled, 'n brawled both Curly 'n Anglea onto one side of the couch, glarin', poutin', 'n plannin' murder. Johnny eases himself down onto the floor in front where Tim can reach the top of his head.

"Alright." Tim doesn't waste any time. Gets straight to untwistin', slender, practiced hands that can just as easily pick a lock or hotwire a car. "You know your part in this."

Johnny furrows his brow in thought, moves to start untwistin' the locs fallin' over his forehead. "Hmm. Oh, I know. Didya hear Sylvie two-timed Dal again?" He can't see him but he can practically feel Tim roll his eyes.

"What's new about that?"

"So I guess it ain't true then." He shrugs a shoulder absently, doesn't elaborate until both Curly 'n Anglea are leanin' forward in his peripheral 'n he's got an audience. "Nothin' really, I guess. Just that's she's sayin' she was two timin' with you."

"What the hell." Anglea shoves Curly backward so she can better see Johnny's face. "That true?"

"Which part?"

"Well I certianly ain't taken up with Sylvie, knucklehead." He finishes a lock, reaches over to knock his sister on the back of the head, then pauses thoughtfully. "Though, I guess that does explain the slashin' the tires shit, yeah?"

"What else you heard, Johnny?" Curly ducks under Anglea's arm, leans so far forward he nearly slips straight off the couch 'n busts his mouth.

"Mi Dios, Curly I ain't takin' you to the fuckin' hospital tonight. Míralo." He shifts to grab a clip left scattered across the coffee table from some other forgotten hair day. "But do go on, Cade."

"Well, the other day I heard down at the drive-in..." They lapse down into the easy back 'n forth of hair night. Gossip traded idly back 'n forth 'n only one-fourth of it believed. What was new with who, who was hired, who was fired, whose prices went up, the newest tidbit from the south river gangs that only ever made it into Tusla by way of a friend of a friend of a friend.

Two hours in Curly 'n Angela start to bitch about dinner (though neither make a move to fix nothin') 'n Tim relents (if only to shut them up) 'n sends 'em down to the Dairy Queen on the corner.

It's four long hours, seven ('n a half) reruns of The FBI, two milkshakes, 'n one real migraine, by the time they're done untwistin' all Johnny's locs.

"Well, whatcha thinkin', Cade?" Tim kicks at his back so he can stretch 'n Johnny moves outta the way. His shakes his head 'n grins, pullin' here, shapin' there.

Curly's asleep, head thrown back on Angie's shoulder, limbs tangled together in sleep, the one time they ain't fightin'. Tim half smiles, snatches a blanket off the back of the couch 'n throws it over his kid siblin's shoulders.

"Damn, I owe ya big time, huh Tim?" Johnny instinctually lowers his voice like the Shepard's couldn't sleep through a shootout.

"Ya don't want it back in braids or nothin'?" He shakes his head again, natural hair shakin' out in a loose afro around his head.

"Naw, not for a bit. I gotta give ya a break, huh?" Tim chuckles, twists his arms above his head so both his shoulders pop.

"Just come back over if ya need help takin' care of it, bien?"

"I will man. Do I, uh, owe ya somethin', man?" Tim yawns, reaches down to absently push a curl outta Curly's face, pauses to think.

"Yeah, actually, I can thinka somethin'." He grabs Johnny's jacket from where it's slumped on the carpet. "Don't take that estúpido chico blanco, Dallas' advice for shit. 'N if you're feelin' extra generous, Cade? Try to convince 'em I didn't have nothin' to do with Sylvie before he puts a pipe bomb in the mailbox."

#half black/half latinx shepards they could NEVER make me hate you #guys theyre so important to me #love natural hair #love a good hair day #AOUGH #poc johnny cade you will always be famous to ME #johnny cade #the outsiders #tim shepard #curly shepard #angela shepard #dallas winston #Sylvie the outsiders #AGH #sorry i took such a long ass fic writin hiatus!!#cant guarantee im BACK back but enjoy this!!!#my writing #ALSO #IF ANYONE WHOS A NATIVE SPANISH SPEAKER WANTS TO CORRECT MY BUM ASS ATTEMPT I WILL LOVE YA FOREVER

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blueaetherr · 2 years ago

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half-life

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): angst, gotg3 reference (?)

summary: the one where we witness jude and y/n's love for one another falter over time and its aftermath

now reading: the sun is also a star by nicola yoon

in love, [half-life] is the time it takes for lovers to feel half of what they once did

Somewhere in the flower field, a setting graceful and niche in presentation, a space that ran for miles and miles with shades and styles in every foot and inch—somewhere in all of that, there was Jude and Y/N.

They were simply lost in the mass of everything, of all there was around them. Lost in their shared thoughts and reality, lost in the company one was able to give the other. 'Cause even though they were surrounded by such vibrant colours, wildflowers galore and nature itself, they instead chose to focus their sight on each other.

"For you," Jude said after he had crafted a flower crown as he held it out to his partner.

Tilting her head, her lips welcomed a grateful smile. Y/N took the delicate creation with care and support. Y/N observed it as she spun it between her fingers. "Thank you, but you didn't have to."

"I didn't but I wanted to." His words were spoken as if his intentions had been so evident.

"Alright, alright," she let out a breezy laugh, matching the evening winds. Soft and mild. Considering Jude's love languages were a mixture of giving gifts and acts of service, she shouldn't have been surprised. Suddenly, she frowned. "I didn't make anything for you though."

His eyes wandered their greenery surroundings before suggesting, "Pick something from the grass at random for me."

"Okay, let's see..." Inhaling a small breath Y/N reached her hand into the grass and when her hand came up, there was a four-leaf clover in her grasp. Her mouth fell open as a few laughs escaped. "Shit then. My gift to you: good luck."

"I mean this is amazing," Jude chuckled as he accepted the clover. Then he shrugged, "But I think good luck has already come my way." It was only uncomplicated words he spoke yet it had Y/N flustered and shying away from her partner's gaze all while grinning wide—happy, and that in itself by default made him happy too.

12 months into the relationship and this was the couple at their peak.

The two, and the relationship itself, were one's favourite love song, the living proof of true and ideal love and stood tall and proud with the foundation of love at first sight. They were feared by heartbreak, refreshing love cliches and in essence simply beautiful and inspiring and wonderful. That was Jude and Y/N.

Taking adoring pictures, pronouncing corny yet adoring words to one another, sharing their looks of affection when the other wasn't aware—this was them at their personal best and from there, they could only falter and fumble after that.

They were 18 months in when the cracks in the relationship began to appear in their eyes. In the privacy of their home, between their family and friends, in their messages. It was slow and steady yet they were for sure drifting, and drifting, drifting away from one another. It was subtle at first, like when their schedules began to not match up so they couldn't see one another that much, or getting in and out of bed at different times so they spent less time together.

But they were okay with that; it was an irregularity they were bound to face in their relationship. And there were a plethora of ways to manoeuvre around their problems, like talking on the phone or messaging when space was between them or when they weren't in arms' reach of one another.

But then the messages calmed down and calls were being missed, going to voicemail until they were eventually declined by the receiver. The explicit messages were the first ones to go, and they continued to fall flat until only essential calls were left between Jude and Y/N. And even when the two individuals were in arms reach of each other, when they were under the same roof at the same time, when they could share close and personal dialogue—they chose not to.

And like the calls and the messages, their conversations let up over time. Everything began to diminish in quality and quantity: conversations, bedroom interactions, movie nights, inside jokes, shared dinners and breakfasts in bed. They never noticed, they never had the chance to really, but they unknowingly slipped below the status of both a couple and roommates all at once so quickly.

They were 21 months in when the cracks grew more and more prominent and public. Y/N attended fewer games while Jude attended fewer work parties. Fewer dedication posts, fewer sighted outings together. The pair—as individuals—began to barely speak about one another to their families and friends, uncertain and wandering speech whenever they would.

And because it became so public, because Jude and Y/N used to be so public and open and suddenly now were significantly nothing, everyone noticed; the change was visibly discernable. There was concern, honest worry for the two. Though always would the two shrug it all off and reassure everyone by saying all would be good in the end, not knowing what the end actually entailed for them in future months.

'Cause Jude and Y/N just kept escalating, faltering, and stumbling away from one another as the months passed. 1 month, 14 days, 7 days, 3 days, 1 day until they amounted to absolutely nothing. It had been an internal battle. They felt what they could—that adoration, desire, attraction, affection—they loved what they could until they couldn't anymore.

They spiralled, completely spiralled until they were nothing, and there was nothing they could have done to stop it. Without noticing they simplified devastation in their relationship. They were the earth after a monumental asteroid, knocked off their axis and forced into oblivion.

"We're a bit tragic, aren't we?"

It had been quiet for a while. Not only between the two but also in the coffee shop they were settled in, seeing as closing time was near and hardly any customers but themselves were present. Still, they welcomed it almost as if the two had forgotten how to speak (and maybe they did). So her voice came to him as a surprise when she narrowed the silence between them.

Jude came out of a short daze and dialled his attention back on the person sitting across from him. He tuned back into Y/N—his now ex-partner—who was stirring her coffee order waiting for his response.

"Tragic?" He exhaled and leaned back in his place and tilted his head. Not only because he had to think about it. They were having one of those conversations again. The ones that were beyond depressing and sad to entertain. "A strong word that, but yeah... We're a bit tragic."

He looked away as his chest fell. There was a sad smile on his lips when he finished speaking. Y/N shared how he felt, nodding with pursued lips because it was overwhelmingly true.

After they broke up some months ago they chose to remain friends, civil and familiar. They were able to be friends with no problem or hassle. Still, that didn't cancel out the fact that they were indeed tragic as one.

A quick glance at their relationship revealed the hardships Jude and Y/N experienced together. They were forced to break apart so prematurely and there was little to no one to relate to. What they had initially felt for one another hadn't been able to withstand the demands of fate and the universe. While they tried and tried and tried countless times, they couldn't exactly recall the reasons why they fell for one another some years ago.

For those reasons and many more, they were tragic.

"I don't know if it's just me," Y/N started as she placed her spoon down, "but I always try to pinpoint where it kinda went all wrong but I'm always lost about it."

"I just try not to think about it, to be honest," Jude sighed, drained and hopeless.

By now he had accepted that he and Y/N as a couple had been a lost cause. The distance between them who they had been and who they were now was too wide to bridge. Just like Y/N couldn't pinpoint where everything had gone wrong between them, he had been doing the same before their break-up, when they had started to slowly unravel. Months have passed—years—and still was Jude uncertain as to how they fell apart so he just left the subject alone for his sanity.

He didn't acknowledge it that much but according to others around him, the weight of the break up fell on Jude's shoulders more than it did Y/N. He was the one who opened up the possibility of a relationship; he was the one who had pursued Y/N, had asked her out and eventually asked her to be his girlfriend. Being the more emotional half, the more vulnerable one had others feeling like Y/N was the first one to fall out of love.

Jude could've reacted when he had first heard that judgement though chose not to. One, their relationship was over so what good would an answer actually do for them? Two, just like his past lover, he too fell out of love with Y/N. Why antagonise her for something she couldn't control, an action he too was guilty of committing?

He cleared his throat as he lifted his eyes away from the table. "But I do try to at least imagine what we were like." Imagine, not remember. If he tried to remember he would fail. To imagine came with no defeat and all creativity; he could wish upon all he wanted and leave out all the bad of their previous relationship.

Her eyes brightened as they widened, interest prevailing in her voice. "Oh, really?" It wasn't rare to have positive talk between them. Not everything they spoke about was sad and depressing. What was rare was positive talk regarding their past together.

"Yeah. Not all the time, though," Jude sat up straighter in his place, rubbing under his nose. "Just when I want to wonder a bit. I don't talk about it with anyone anymore—I haven't for a while really—but I spoke about us with my mum the other day, like last week or whatever. I asked about it 'cause I naturally get curious and she told me some stuff."

She carefully gripped her hands around her mug, despite her coffee having gone cold by now. "And what did she say?" Y/N asked in a soft tone.

"She said... she said a lot. She said after I first asked you out on our first date and you said yes, I was so excited and obsessed with you—in a good way obviously. I asked her about when I first told you I loved you and she mentioned I was so happy and excited and kinda just in love that she was scared that I was going to go too fast, like propose or something." The corner of his lips curved up as they shared a small laugh together. Despite their distance, they were able to reminisce on something they no longer held feelings for.

"We spoke a lot about how I was with you and everything and after all that I asked about you, how you were to me... and she didn't have to say much because and I quote, the same way you felt about her was the same way Y/N felt about you, Jude."

Soon, Y/N became animated as she offered Jude a teasing look. "So what I'm hearing is that we were soulmates?" Even if it was a question in literal terms, it almost came out as a statement. Y/N wanted to believe they were soulmates beyond their losses.

"I think we were so much more than just soulmates," Jude suggested. From a shy smile it grew into something wide, happiness reaching his eyes perfectly. "Soulmates, best friends, in-between people for others. And I want to believe we were fun and cool and real."

Even though Jude and Y/N couldn't remember what or how they felt for one another once upon a time, they still had a clear chain of events of their relationship, and still had an understanding of their favourite activities and hobbies together. From that they could come to their conclusions.

"We still are." Not that she wanted to believe that but rather Y/N knew that was the reality. Beyond their depressing and sad conversations every few weeks, they would have fun and cool and real times.

They still enjoyed listening to music together. They still played video games together. They still found comfort and rest in having conversation with two coffee orders with the dessert special of the day at their favourite coffee place, always sitting at their designated table—with Jude facing the entrance—that even some of the staff members recognised to be theirs. All those activities and events happened all time post-relationship, just without those lingering feelings.

He hummed in agreement. "We still are," Jude said, satisfied and happy. He was satisfied and happy knowing that this wasn't just a sad and depressing conversation they were having; they were also able to share some happiness and understanding during their routine meet-up.

Jude and Y/N shared some easy conversations, exchanged songs and music tastes, discussed their favourite people, hot gossip and personal life with no fear of judgement seeing as they were given the time and space alone together in the final open hours of their favourite coffee shop.

It was a wake every time they would meet up; they would pay their respects to their dead relationship, reminisce about it if the collective mood was moderately neutral, comfort and support one another where needed, reflect on the relationship and life in general, shed tears or laugh then say goodbye when it was all said and done.

But there was also a celebration aspect to it. After everything, after the universe and fate had screwed them over with false hope of a flourishing relationship, after losing the ability to feel for one another romantically, Jude and Y/N were still friends. Not too distant or best friends but friends. They were friendly and comfortable and civil to one another, and that was okay with them; that was all they needed to move on together and separately.

Maybe they were right after all. The love was still there, unconditional just within reason. Whether together or not, Jude and Y/N were soulmates and would always be.

part 2

#blueaetherr #jude bellingham #jude belingham imagines #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham oneshots #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x black!reader #black!reader #football imagines #football fanfiction #football fanfic #football oneshots

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pheenick · 13 days ago

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spoilers for altheya ep 62

now that i have my faculties together—

what an episode holy shit.

gruff's message to his wife, telling him about this boy who is so much like theirs. about how he failed their boy, but he will not fail this one. and yet—

and yet.

Ophelia: Are we not all vessels for some greater purpose or another, according to our own beliefs or what not? Xantheus: Hopefully not!

there is something about this campaign's exploration of faith and religion that makes this so juicy. for gruff, especially. gruff who has been feeling his foundational faith in the scions shaken recently. both by witnessing ophelia's intense devotion and also seeing the darker and more imperfect sides of the church. in iceheart, religion was just a part of life. it was part of the motions. it was what was taught and so it was what they did.

but when gruff does reach out to a god, he reaches out to althe. he reaches out to the one whose corpse they stand upon. whose bounty they harvest in the sea. he reaches for a god who sacrificed their entire self so that others could survive and live on afterwards. what a perfect god for gruff who, for all his moral conflictions with authority and the realities of being an adventurer, has always done what he believes is right in that moment. even if the consequences are great, even if he regrets it. even if, looking at logically, he shouldn't—but he will anyway. because right in front of him is a boy. his boy. a boy who needs help and looking at him with terrified eyes that are sometimes not his own, but is still his boy, divine possession notwithstanding.

his loyalty to his own morality has always been stronger than his loyalty to faith or reason. his greater purpose has, and always will be, to help and protect and save. a knight, through and through.

and xantheus, so terrified of what lines gruff will cross because of him, who turns his chest when gruff comes up to hug him because he doesn't want gruff to touch the crownsteel. xantheus who is so terrified of hurting others that his magic subconsciously blocks the crownsteel from corrupting anyone else but himself because when the chips are down, that's who he is. he loves them. he loves them so much.

Xantheus: If I wasn’t there, where would you be? If you weren’t protecting me, who could you be saving?

this was said from xantheus to gruff, but literally the second that obsiddias turns towards xantheus with the intent to kill him, everyone squares up.

rowan doesn't even hesitate to enlarge. rowan, who is terrified and has always been terrified, standing up to literally fight a very powerful and very scary dragon mage.

ophelia engages the armour that has her kind of squeamish without missing a beat because her fears are outweighed by her own determination to protect her friend. even with all her doubts and terror about the crownsteel. about xantheus. she loves him so much that she won't kill him. she refuses to. she'll run away, get help, do literally anything else, but consider that an option. and when he's in danger? she will fight.

and daisy...dasiy trying so desperately hard to save xantheus. trying to convince obsiddias, trying to reason with him, pleading with him. even going so far as to open up her mind—obsiddias just barged into her very private space that has always been a symbol of safety and home because nim is there and nim loves her and protects her and despite that violation, daisy still tells nim to stand down because she is so desperate for obsiddias to understand and help xantheus and is hoping that showing him everything will work.

god. god. i have no idea how they're going to resolve this mess, but i fucking love how when the chips are down, this has exposed the absolute truth of who these characters fundamentally are.

#high rollers dnd #hr

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ssentimentals · 2 years ago

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like a sunflower {choi hansol}

pairing: hansol x fem!reader

prompt: 'your heart is beating so fast right now' (this work is part of my 1k event, go check out other works of mine here )

warnings: none, this is pure fluff!

hansol doesn't know how to do it. how to just- say it. words are usually so easy for him, they spring themselves into sentences and lyrics so effortlessly, so he doesn't really know why he's having such a hard time here. it's just- how can he say it? how can he tell you that sometimes he feels like he was born for you without making it weird? how he can explain that he thinks a lot about how so many people spend so much time trying to find their place in this world and yet he has no intention searching for it cause his is right next to you? words don't feel quite right whenever he tries to open his mouth and talk about it; words don't do justice to everything what's bubbling and brewing inside his heart, they fall flat when he tries to put it all on the paper. with a frustrated groan, he tears off yet another unfinished love letter, throwing it down.

'you're overthinking it,' joshua admonishes him gently. he's been quietly observing his roommate for the past twenty minutes and starts getting a little anxious at the sight of torn notebook pages at his feet. 'you two are so close, i think she'll understand what you mean even if you won't write an ode to her.'

'i want it to be perfect,' hansol replies, stubbornly tearing up another page. 'she deserves nothing but.'

'don't get so worked up,' joshua pacifies, standing up and coming over to his friend, patting his back comfortingly. 'i don't think she wants perfect, though.'

at this hansol looks up at him, frowning. joshua chuckles, putting his finger right between hansol's eyebrows, making him go a little cross eyed. joshua doesn't know how hansol can be this blind, how he can't see how you two are so close that whoever sees you for the first time always ends up thinking that you're a couple. he's never seen any other two people who care about each other so deeply as you two do, so hansol being nervous before asking you out is laughable. only hansol doesn't find it funny. joshua sighs, patting his roommate's shoulder. 'she doesn't want perfect, she just wants you.'

hansol blinks, mulling over what he heard. it sounds a bit too good to be true, but joshua is not cruel, he'd never joke with him about something so important. before he can properly give this idea a good thought, his phone beeps and from the ringtone alone he knows it's from you. hansol instantly jumps on his bed, ignoring joshua's loud snort at this and unlocks his phone, smiling at the text message from you.

'judging from your smile, i take it she invited you to come over,' joshua speaks, watching with amusement as his friend hastily starts to get dressed. 'what for?'

'i'll help with her halloween prep,' hansol mutters, pulling on his favorite sweater, the one that you gifted him for christmas. he wears it with utmost care, loving the most how you light up at the sight of this sweater on him every single time. 'and she'll help me with my statistics exam.'

'don't forget the umbrella,' joshua's voice reaches him when he's almost out of the door. 'it's gonna rain soon!'

hansol ignores it in favor of rushing to you, zipping up his backpack on the way. the road to your place is his favorite one, he knows every single crook down the alley, every single tree is familiar to him - he spent so many hours memorizing it all, because this road leads him to you and his mind shuffles everything which is even remotely close to you to the folder in his brain called 'important'. he huffs in annoyance when it first rain drops fall on his head and then groans loudly, when two rain drops turn into a full on downpour, making him look around in search of the hideout. without thinking he runs to the nearest shop, announcing his presence with a grunt, blinking up at variety of flowers in front of him in stupor.

'hello, how can i help you?'

he passed this flower shop so many times but never really went it, so young man in dark brown apron,who stares at him too kind eyes, is entirely unfamiliar. hansol clears his throat, helplessly staring back, gesturing towards the exit and mumbling something about the rain.

'oh!' understanding lights up in stranger's eyes and he smiles, nodding. 'seeking shelter from rain? it's fine, you can sit here.'

it's very kind and it makes hansol shuffle from side to side with unease as his eyes take in beauiful array of flowers. there are all kind of them, colors vary from dark to bright ones and sunflowers stick out amongst everything in their yellow-orange glory; hansol takes a step towards them. his eyes gravitated towards them just like they do with you and this thought makes him smile. 'sunflowers are not very popular,' the stranger chimes in, watching hansol with a smile on his face. 'which is a shame, really. they are very beautiful.'

'what do they mean?' hansol asks quietly, not looking away from the flowers. their color is so warm - it reminds him of you. something sparks up at the back of his mind, something that demands his attention as he stares at these flowers.

'hm, adoration in most cases, longevity in others. they are known for being 'happy' flowers, you know? like i'd give them to someone who make me happy, to person who i want to stay in my life for a long, long time.'

hansol blinks and moves on instinct, grabbing bunch of sunflowers due to his inner voice basically screaming at him to do it. 'i'll take those.'

'oh, okay. i can wrap them up in-'

'no-no, i'll take them like that, how much is it?' hansol interrupts, suddenly needing to get out of here and run to you like right now. his heart starts beating faster as ideas form in his head, joshua's voice loud and clear in his head with 'she doesn't want perfect, she just wants you'.

he hastily pays, ignores surprised looks from the guy and runs to you with sunflowers in his hand, getting wet in seconds under the pouring rain. it's cold and his clothes stick to him in the most uncomfortable ways, but his heart is marching so loud in his head, he can't think of anything else but... you. and how you will love these sunflowers. how he's an idiot for trying to capture perfect words in lyrics because perfection in this world exists only in you and nothing else. how he really can shake off any pretense and come to you with an open heart, soaked clothes and unwrapped sunflowers and that you will take him in, because that's what you always did, have done from the start. it's you-you-you and by the time he stands in front of your door, knocking urgently, hansol thinks he might have gone a bit delirious.

'who- oh my god,' you gasp, stopping on tracks at the sight of him. 'hansol, what even-' you blink, gazing in confusion at the flowers in his hand and then back at his wet clothes. there's thousand questions in your head, he can tell, but instead of voicing them out loud, you say: 'get in, god, are you okay?'

is he okay? this questions makes him want to laugh and he barely holds it in. is he okay? he doesn't know but despite the shivers running up and down his body from the cold, he feels like he's on fire. you say something about him being dumb for forgetting umbrella and every second which passes by and he doesn't confess to you feels like a second wasted.

'-you'll catch a cold if you keep on standing in these wet clothes!' you huff, pushing towel in his hands. 'and... um, these flowers..' you trail off, unsure. something ugle tugs in your chest at the thought of these flowers not belonging to you, but you stomp at these feelings. 'do you want me to put them-'

'these are for you,' he rushes out, tripping on his words. 'i mean- obviously. obviously these are for you.' hansol looks down and grimaces: 'i'm soaking your carpet, sorry.' he then quickly looks up, handing you the flowers: 'sorry, here. i hope you like them.'

'sunflowers,' you voice, carefully cradling them in your hands. 'they are beautiful.'

like you is on the tip of his tongue and hansol holds it back but then thinks better of it; why the hell he'd hold back? 'like you,' he says, smiling at surprised look on your face. 'and they make me feel warm just by looking at them and you do, too. i look at you and i- it makes me warm all over.'

you blink at him, not exactly sure what to do with this information. hansol, with this crazy look in his eyes, looks like he's on the brink of fever and you frown, stepping closer to him and feeling up his forehead for any signs of high temperature. 'you're not warm,' you state, buffled.

second passes and hansol huffs in disbelief. he takes your hand in his and moves it towards his chest, knowing very well what you'll find there. just like he predicted, your eyes widen: 'your heart is beating so fast right now.'

'i assume it would, considering how i'm about to confess.'

a stupor and then, cautious and hopeful: 'confess?'

'and ask you out as well,' hansol nods. he's mindful of not pulling you very close, not wanting to get your clothes wet too; but he still tugs at your sleeves so you'd step more in his personal space. this is where he wants you all the time. 'i tore up two notebooks, trying to write you a perfect song, or poem, or love letter. but it's hard cause i can't really find the right words for this feeling, you know? you feel it, don't you know? you know what i'm talking about, right?'

your eyes glow with a keen understanding but you still press on: 'what feeling?'

hansol sighs and when your fingers squeeze at his sweater unconsciously, in tredipation for what's to come, he knows he just needs to be honest: 'like i was made for you. like everything could change, but there's one constant thing in this world and it's us. what you and i have.' he pushes your hand tighter to his chest, searching for your eyes desperately: 'don't you feel it too?'

a fire can break down for all he cares, but he'd never look away from your eyes. you open up to him like a sunflower opens up to the sun, it's a beautiful thing. all you can do is nod, because hansol has always been better with words between you two and because you're afraid your voice might crack in the end from all of the emotions.

'i ran all the way here like a dying man cause one more second without you knowing how i feel just didn't make any sense.'

you shut your eyes, trying not to start crying. hansol, who you always seen as your soulmate, who has always been your side to the point that it's hard to imagine life without him; this hansol is the very same hansol, who tried to write you a perfect song, who ran under the rain here with sunflowers to tell you that he thinks he was made for you. you open your eyes, taking a deep breath. glancing at him and then at the flowers, you smile shakily: 'this is perfect.'

'it is?' he lights up like a little child. 'really?'

'i mean, i never really cared or wanted the perfect, i just wanted you.'

hansol sucks in breath, feeling like he was punched in the gut. god, he really needs to listen to joshua more. he opens his mouth and then tremor wracks his whole body, making him cringe: 'i..really need to change out from these wet clothes.'

sound of your laugh is the music to his ears. he watches the way your head falls back at your laugh and feels love pour out from his pores, unrestricted anymore. he may be shivering of cold now, but just by looking at you he feels warmer. just like a sunflower.

a/n: i think this ended up being way too long and maybe a bit too mushy but!! no blaming me, i had a rough time and i cope by writing something like this. to the anon who requested it - hope you like it! - nini

tagging @prpldahy

#seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff #hansol imagine #hansol fanfic #seventeen hansol #seventeen vernon #vernon chwe #vernon fanfic #vernon #seventeen fanfic #hansol scenario #hansol x reader #seventeen reaction #svt vernon #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt hansol #i am in LOVE with him and this hansol is the only hansol i will accept in fanfics

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garmanarnarr · 11 months ago

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Rickorty Week Day 6: "Say You'll Marry Me"

college-aged Morty | 2.8k words | Rated M, language, vomit, suicidal ideation, rock bottom Rick Sanchez

@rickortyweek

Morty throws the trunk of his dad’s station wagon shut with a thump.

“You sure you don’t need to bring my Ninja smoothie blender, Morty?” Dad asks, for a second time, standing on the driveway beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. The August morning is hot and clear. Gene’s sprinklers are going hard on the lawn next door.

“I think it’ll make you really popular with your roommate. You said they’re from California, right? They must be healthy. There’s a little more space behind the driver’s side–”

“N-nah, I’m good, Dad,” Morty says. He goes around to the passenger door to do a last check of his overflowing laundry hamper and make sure his video game console box made it in. He doesn’t want to forget Bonestorm III. All told, he doesn’t really have that much to bring, though, and the car’s only half full. He wears pretty much the same clothes all the time, and doesn’t have a ton of books or movies or anything. His booby bikini girl poster is rolled up in the footwell of the backseat and one or two of his robot figurines he just couldn’t part with are packed into cardboard boxes. All the advice listacles his parents found online for Summer’s freshmen year of college said that bringing something from home was important, so the idea has been passed down.

He reaches into his pocket and palms the little evil intent detector that Rick had made for him a few years back. A tiny credit-card sized piece of metal that reads people’s brainwaves and vibrates if they’re planning on hurting him or torturing him or whatever. They’d used it on an adventure, a rare heist –Morty can see Rick’s eye roll– but he hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. He’d gone back and forth for ages on whether or not to even bring it. He still doesn’t have to, he tells himself; he has hundreds of miles of highway driving ahead of him where he can just chuck it out the window and let it get crushed on the side of the road. He tightens his grip.

His mom comes out of the garage, checking her watch. “We gotta get this show going,” she says. The garage feels weirdly empty until Morty realizes it’s because Rick’s ship isn’t in it. Hasn’t been there for a while. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and starts loading the last few bags.

“If we don’t leave soon we won’t make it to our motel until, like, eleven, and lord knows what we’re going to find in Fresno after sundown,” Mom says.

Dad follows Morty as he transfers a final trash bag of gym shorts and shit into the back seat.

“What– what about my George Foreman Lean Griddle? Or, my Slap Chop? You never know when you’ll need onions in little cubes, those always make me cry….”

Dad sniffs, then wipes away a tear, even though he’s trying to look like he isn’t. Oh, God. He had volunteered to drive Morty first, of course, before being overruled.

Morty turns back and gives him a small smile. “I’m really fine, Dad. But thanks.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, just give me a moment, son.”

Something in Morty’s pocket buzzes. His hand flies to Rick’s detector, for a second, until he realizes it was the other one. He pulls out his phone and opens it to check his messages while Dad tries to get it together. Two are from Summer, who’s been spending her senior year of college in London with the textile arts department of her school doing fashion stuff.

dont let dad cry all over u little bro

cuz hes gonna

The newer message is from his girlfriend, Anne.

status report mortimer

Morty finds himself looking for some kind of message from Rick– which is stupid. Rick doesn’t text.

He texts Anne:

finally leaving lol

She responds immediately:

call me when you guys stop for the night?

Morty’s heart clenches fondly. They’re going to different schools to study different things in different parts of the country— newly separate time zones– and it’s going to be hard, but he likes her a lot. Enough to give it a shot. He winces as he remembers Rick’s deadpan dismissal when Morty had mentioned that he and Anne were going to do long distance over dinner a month or two ago. D–didn’t take you for that much of an idiot, Morty. As soon as she gets there she’s gonna be getting allll sorts of co-ed dicks in her mouth. But I guess you don’t mind sloppy digital seconds?

Ofc i will, he types.

Nobody’s heard from Rick in two or three weeks. Morty had kind of expected– well, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but he’d really thought that Rick would do him better than this. All he does is talk about how stupid Morty is all the time; maybe he’s pissed at being sort of wrong. He’d been straight up shocked when Morty got his acceptance letter in the mail, the packet fat in Morty’s hand as he raced down from his room to show everyone. While Summer screamed, and both his parents had cried, Rick had stared at the letter Morty was holding, hard, then sipped his beer, then turned back to the TV. N-nice one, Morty. A real cool sixty grand a year investment, there.

“Let’s go, Morty,” Mom says, opening the passenger side door. “I need some coffee if we’re gonna do this.”

Finally, Dad wipes his face. After taking a few deep, calming breaths, he walks over and sweeps Morty up in a hug.

“I’m proud of you, Morty.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“We didn’t think you’d make it, but you did. Of course you did. And that’s what matters.”

“Bye, Dad,” Morty said, leaning into the hug. “I–I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Morty doesn’t realize how much he misses the sound of a portal opening up until he hears one right behind them. Dad jerks back with a frightened twitch.

“What the hell–?”

Rick doesn’t so much step out onto the driveway as fall. He looks to be in a really bad way. Maybe as bad as Morty has ever seen him: scraggly and torn up, not even really standing up straight, too drunk for his body to cope with the flat, even keel of the pavement. One arm of his labcoat is missing, ripped off at the shoulder, and Morty’s thankful to see that the arm beneath is intact. Skinny, and maybe there are track lines, there, faint in the bright sunshine, but intact. There’s dried vomit crusted on his sweater.

“M-Morty, oh, God,” Rick moans. Morty feels a sinister shiver run over his shoulders and up the back of his neck as he watches Rick try to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly into the hot light. “Christ. Fuck.”

“Dad?” Mom asks, poking her head out of the driver’s window.

“Rick? Here to say goodbye to Morty?” Jerry asks, cautiously. Morty watches as he scooches himself to stand between his son and Rick, a little bit. A surprisingly brave move.

“Isn’t that w-what we’re all doing?” Rick asks back, taking a step forwards, then falling to one knee with a lurch as he loses his balance. “Saying fuckin’ goodbye— goAAUUGhodbye to Morty? Because he’s going away f-f-forever and never coming back?”

Rick’s drunken stare pins Morty to the side of the car, which had been parked outside so long while they packed that the metal is starting to get hot. The words sound like a taunt, but Morty can hear the truth there, a hard kernel in the middle.

“Hi, Rick,” he says, trying for indifference. In his pocket, he squeezes his hand around the detector.

Rick narrows his eyes. “R-R-Rick and Morty. One thhhhousand fuckin’ years. What, whatever happened to that shit, huh?”

“Dad–” Mom’s getting back out of the car.

“So I’m going to school. Big whoop,” Morty says, annoyed. Everything about this is annoying: Rick disappearing whenever he wanted then showing up just in the nick of time fucking shit faced like he’s trying to bail out the Vindicators. “You’ve been gone for, like, three weeks, Rick. And you didn’t feel the need to tell anybody about that. N-not that I would expect anything else at this stage. So, you know, whatever.”

“Three weeks?” Rick’s struggling to stand back up, now. “Three weeks?”

“You’ve never owed anyone anything in your whole goddamn– your whole stupid life, R-Rick. Not my family, not me. Not even Mom.”

Rick’s expression is foggy and drunk, but underneath, Morty can see he’s hurt.

“I think you should go, Dad,” Mom says in her stop-doing-this-right-now-or-you’re-fucked voice. “I don’t care if you portal out of here, or crash on the sofa to ride out your hangover, or whatever, but just. Let us leave.”

Somehow, Rick manages to get one leg in front of the other so he can advance up the driveway towards Morty with halting, wavering steps like a zombie in a horror movie. The detector in Morty’s pocket buzzes. Dad looks back and forth between them, scared.

“Three weeks, Morty?” he grinds out, again. He’s close enough now for Morty to see how bloodshot his eyes are. “I’ll give– give you three weeks. Y-you know what happens when you go to college Morty? You have four years to get too fuckin’ big for your idiotic little britches.” He grabs one hand around Morty’s bicep, grip crushingly strong. Morty can smell his rancid breath across his face, agitated, huffy. “And then you, you go and think you can do goAUUGHd, good things for the world, or whatever, you get those little aspir– aspirations in your head, Morty, you get these fucking ideas in your head–”

“It’s already been years, Rick,” Morty says, trying not to turn away. “Doing whatever, well at least, pretty much whatever, I-I guess, you wanted me to do.”

“– and you don’t even know how stupid these i–ideas are, until, boom, you’ve lived your whole sad-ass pathetic-ass life doing jack fucking shit. Goin’ and bein’ a techbro office slave narc or some shit. I just can’t, I just can’t ffffucking– oh fuck—”

Rick starts to throw up pretty spectacularly all over the ground, and the side of the car, and on Morty’s sneakers.

“Oh my god, Dad!”

“Oh, Rick that’s just disgusting!!”

Morty just stays quiet until Rick seems finished and he slumps against the car, moaning. He watches as Rick slides down until he’s half knelt, half crouched by the front bumper, the vomit running down the gentle slope of the driveway to touch his shoes and the spread hand on the ground that’s keeping him from falling on his face. He makes a sound when Morty comes closer, a sort of whimper. Morty gets down beside him. Unable to stop himself, he puts a hand on his grandpa’s back and starts rubbing little circles as Rick groans, spitting out a wad of bile. There are a lot of different colors in the vomit, ones Morty can’t recognize even though he’s pretty familiar with Rick’s binge habits by this point.

“Fuck youUUGh. Fffffuck you, Morty. I– I mean that. So much. '' Rick’s staring at the ground. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand. Morty wonders if maybe he’s going to be sick again.

“Yeah, fuck you, too, man,” Morty says, but there’s no heart in it. He just feels sad. He wishes– he doesn’t know what he wishes.

“F-forever. Fuck you, forever,” Rick mutters quietly, almost to himself. Little dark spots show up on the driveway beneath his head, and Morty realizes he’s crying. Or maybe it’s post-vomit drool? It’s hard to see his face.

“M-Morty, Morty listen to me,” Rick says. He sounds defeated, almost confused. As old as he really is.

“I’m listening, Rick.”

“I’m gonna do somethin’ stupid. Sooo, so stupid.” Rick’s still staring at the ground.

Dad’s shadow has crept next to Rick’s foot. “Rick, I really don’t think–”

“Whatever you’re about to do, think twice before you traumatize my son,” Mom says. Then she pauses and adds: “More.”

Morty keeps rubbing circles across Rick’s knobby spine. “What, Rick? What– what’re you gonna do?”

“Say you’ll.” Rick chokes a little.

“Say what?”

“Say you’ll marry me, Morty.”

Morty blinks. “What?”

“JeEUGHsus Christ, don’t make me say it again.”

Morty’s body is a live wire. His hand scrunches the back of Rick’s coat tightly. “No. Say it again.”

Rick stares up at him with watery eyes.

“Marry me,” he says, quietly. Pathetically. There’s some drool and left-over throwup clinging to his chin.

There was this one adventure they’d gone on where Morty had mangled his leg so badly that his shin bone had actually broken the surface of his skin. Burst right through below his kneecap, like a jagged, bloody tooth. It was screamingly painful– Rick actually had to knock him out until he was able to fix it with some nanobots. Morty realizes that this is the same as that; that this is some core part of Rick, torn through all the heaped layers of nihilism and drugs and whatever else poisons who his grandpa is. This is the exposed bone.

When Morty looks up at his parents, he can’t read the expressions on their faces.

“I– I’m not a good person, Morty,” Rick says, grabbing weakly at Morty’s t-shirt to get his attention again. Like he can’t bear to let Morty look anywhere else. He sounds like he’s really losing it. “I’m a horrible person, Morty. Say– say that you’ll marry me. God, I’ll blow my fuckin’ brains out if you don’t— let’s just g-g-get out of—oh my God—”

Morty’s pocket vibrates. He doesn’t know if it’s the detector or his phone, and he should care, should be terrified, but he doesn’t.

He isn't.

—

Turns out, Shoney’s is a regional chain.

Morty doesn’t realize this until they reach the last one at the edge of the state, just before they cross the border. ‘Last Shoneys for the next 24,800 miles,’ says the sign at the exit. There’s a graphic of an arrow reaching all the way around the globe, back to the little point on the map they’re driving through. Morty has traveled the multiverse with Rick, to places billions of light years away, so far away time doesn’t mean anything at all, but somehow this is already the longest trip he’s ever taken. Like that one scene in the Lord of the Rings where Sam crosses the corn field. If I take one more step, this’ll be the furthest from home I’ve ever been. That was a really good movie, Morty thinks.

His mom throws the car into park. She’s had to adjust the driver’s seat to be closer to the steering wheel because her legs are shorter than Dad’s, and change all the mirrors, too. She drives way faster than him, swerving lanes to cut around traffic like a maniac. Maybe that runs on her side of the family.

“Food?” she asks, simply. Morty nods. He twists to look over his shoulder.

“Rick?”

Rick stirs in the back seat, thin eyelids fluttering. They’d made space for him by shoving over a bunch of the boxes to one side and moving some to the trunk. There aren’t really that many, anyways. He’s wearing a clean pair of pants and a t-shirt that belongs to Dad, which helps, but he still has an undernote of puke and sweat.

He makes a hungover-sounding groan. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

“You want Shoney’s?” Morty asks. “L-last chance.”

“Shoney’s, you say?” He cracks an eye open, gaze flickering around to look up at the building they’re parked at. “Didn’t know they had them out here. O-on earth, I mean.”

Mom watches him silently in the rearview mirror. Rick just looks at Morty.

“Y-you know what, fuck it, sure,” he says finally, popping open the car door and getting out. The sun is even hotter, here, and scorching air blows into the car when he slams it closed. Mom and Morty do the same, one, then the other.

Together, they go inside to eat lunch.

#rickortyweek2024 #rickorty #rickmorty #my writing #once again #these just keep getting longer #i am sorry i am failng the idea of a ficlet #tense changed btw

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writingpandagoth · 11 days ago

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Summary:

In a city where nothing stays clean and nothing stays yours, The Black Rose is your sanctuary—your rules, your regulars, your refuge. Severus Snape is just another shadow at the bar... until one night changes everything.

What starts as sex born of tension becomes something quieter, steadier—almost like love, though neither of you has dared to say the word. You never defined it, never asked. But it’s there in the way he looks at you, the way he stays.

And then his past comes calling. Old debts. Old threats. And suddenly, the thing you never named is the one thing you’re both at risk of losing.

Chapter 9: Revelations

You know when you’re being followed.

It’s not paranoia. It’s instinct. The kind that doesn’t come from fear, but survival.

It started two nights ago—same guy, different corners. Always nearby when you leave The Black Rose. Always pretending to light a cigarette or scroll his phone that never lights up, when you glance back.

You didn’t say anything at first. You changed your route. Took the longer way home. Kept your keys laced between your fingers like claws. Lily and the others noticed it too but you told them not to do anything stupid.

You’ve survived worse.

But the pressure crawls under your skin.

Tonight, it happens again. He’s across the street when you step outside. Same leather. Same grin when your eyes meet. You hold the stare this time, let your expression go flat. Unimpressed. Unshaken. Then you walk—shoulders square, spine stiff, each step louder than it needs to be. You don’t check if he follows.

You already know.

You take out your phone and start typing and try your best to keep cool as you send the text.

The warehouse hasn’t changed.

Same oil-stained floor. Same broken windows swallowing the streetlights. Same thick air that smells like sweat, smoke, and old violence. It remembers him, even if he’s tried to forget it.

Lucius is already there, waiting.

He stands near a rusted-out table, looking far too clean for the ruin around him. The coat is pressed. His shoes don’t even scuff against the filth. He looks like a banker who wandered onto a battlefield and decided to run the war.

“You got my message,” Lucius says without turning. “I was starting to think you’d finally lost your edge.”

“You’re following her now?” Severus's voice is quiet, deadly.

Lucius turns slowly, as if bored by the accusation. “She’s important to you. That makes her interesting.”

Severus doesn’t move. His fists are already clenched. He came here with one intention.

“You’re not going to touch her.”

Lucius chuckles. “You don’t make the rules anymore, Severus. You forfeited that privilege when you walked away. You think you can fuck off to some bar in the gutter and pretend none of this exists?”

“I didn’t pretend.”

“You left me to clean up your mess.”

“You made the mess,” Severus snarls. “All I ever did was what you trained me to do.”

Lucius steps closer. Still smiling, but the smile is tighter now. Hungrier. “You were my best. Efficient. Quiet. A ghost with blood on his hands. You think that goes away? You think you can play house with some soft-eyed bartender and the world won’t notice?”

Severus’s voice is a blade.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll burn it all down. You. The gang. Every single name you still whisper like scripture.”

Lucius tilts his head, amused. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” Severus breathes. “It’s a promise.”

Silence. Heavy. Close.

Lucius finally steps back. “It's your choice really but don’t expect us not to collect what’s owed should you refuse. Think about it.”

Severus turns without another word.

The door creaks open. Rusty. Loud. His boots hit the pavement and the cold air cuts sharper now. But it’s not until he reaches the edge of the alley that his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He doesn’t look at it right away. He lights a cigarette, hands still shaking from restraint. Breathes in deep like it can settle something inside him.

He doesn't check the notification before unlocking his phone.

Everything in him stills.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t waste a breath.

The cigarette hits the pavement.

He’s already moving.

Tires scream against the wet asphalt as the bike roars to life. He doesn’t feel the wind. Doesn’t hear the engine. Only the weight of those three words pounding in his skull with every turn:

I’m being followed.

The streets blur. Red lights mean nothing. Corners burn under his tires. He rides like a man chasing something he can’t live without.

Because if anything touches you—

He’ll never forgive himself.

You just turn the corner to your block before the purr of a motorcycle cuts the air like a blade. Low, rumbling, angry.

You turn.

Severus.

Helmet off. Hair wind-tossed. Jaw set like stone.

He doesn’t speak. Just watches the guy for two full beats. Then dismounts.

His stride is slow but lethal. One hand stays in his pocket—the other clenched.

The man across the street takes one look, weighs his odds, and books it into the alley.

Severus doesn’t chase him.

He just stands there. Watching until the street is quiet again.

You cross your arms. “Friend of yours?”

“No,” he says and finally looks at you. “You okay?”

You nod. Not because it’s true—but because it’s all you’ve got.

He doesn’t say anything else.

And then he’s gone again.

Not for long.

The next night, you hear the knock.

Low. Quiet. No rush.

It’s not the knock of someone demanding to be let in. It’s the sound of someone asking if they still have the right to be there.

You don’t open right away.

But you do open.

He stands there in the hallway—jacket undone, boots tracking rain, shoulders tense. He’s holding something in his hand. It takes you a second to realize it’s a cigarette he never lit.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You step aside.

He walks past you, quiet, deliberate.

Like your apartment is a church and he’s already sinned too many times inside it. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there with the rain clinging to his shoulders.

You shut the door.

“I didn’t know how else to do this,” he says. “But we need to talk. And I figured showing up was better than disappearing again.”

You nod once. “What’s ‘this,’ exactly?”

The apartment feels too small with him in it. He paces once, then stops himself. You stand near the window, arms crossed, staring at the floor.

“You said you wanted to talk. So talk.” you remind him.

He nods. And then—for once—he does.

“I know who he works for. The guy who followed you.”

Your voice is flat. “Lucius?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. He is a part of The Death Eaters.”

You glance over. “You were one of them?”

“I was more than that.”

He leans against the far wall, voice low. Flat. Controlled like a loaded gun.

“I was their fixer. Threats. Intimidation. Beatings. I made things disappear. People. Problems. I was the hand behind the message. The shadow people didn’t see until it was too late.”

You stay quiet.

“I joined because Lucius found me when I had nothing. Told me I was too smart to waste my life working some dead-end job. Said I could make something of myself. He made me believe I had purpose.”

There’s bitterness in the word. Enough to leave a mark.

“And for a long time, I believed him.”

You wait. You want him to stop talking. You want him to say more.

“And then?”

“I hurt people,” he continues. “Sometimes it felt justified. Most times, it didn’t. And when I realized the things I was doing weren’t about justice or power—but about control—I walked.”

You look away.

“I was tired. Tired of being a tool. Tired of being angry. Tired of knowing people only respected me because they were afraid of what I’d do if they didn’t. Tired of trying to clean blood of my hands that never will fade”

He looks at you now, with something raw in his dark eyes.

“I walked,” he says. “Quietly. No mess. Until Lucius showed up again.”

And then he tells you the part that actually matters.

“I left you because I knew what he’d do. The second he saw you, I knew. You became leverage. And if there’s one thing Lucius knows how to use—it’s what people care about.”

The words cut something open in your chest. You cross your arms without meaning to.

“So you came here to warn me?”

“No,” he says. “I came here because I owe you more than what you got.”

The pause stretches. Long. Worn.

You meet his eyes as you speak. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know.”

You turn away from him then, walking toward the window. The city hums outside. Lights smear across the glass like ghosts.

When you speak again, it’s quiet. “I don’t know what this means, Severus. For us.”

“I don’t either,” he says. “But I don't want to keep my life from you anymore.”

You look back.

His eyes aren’t on the door. They’re on you. But there’s distance in them now. Not retreat—but restraint.

And that’s when you realize he hasn’t come close. Not once. He’s standing there, hands at his sides, still like he’s afraid if he reaches for you, you’ll flinch again.

You hate that. You hate that it happened. But more than that—you hate the look on his face now. Like he’s already lost.

“And now?” you ask.

“I told him to back off.”

“Did he listen?”

Severus looks away. “No. Not really.”

You don’t speak for a long time. He doesn’t rush you. He just stands there, like a man waiting for a sentence he won’t get to argue with.

You let out a long breath.

“I don’t know what to do with all this,” you admit.

“I don’t expect you too,” he says his voice much softer.

You nod. Just once. Small. Measured. But it’s something.

It’s late when you finally walk into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. You don’t ask him to stay. But you don’t tell him to leave either.

He followed you quietly but stops just at the door. Not coming closer.

You look up at him. His hands are in his pockets. Not clenched. Not reaching. Just held still like he doesn’t trust them anymore.

You say his name. Just once. Soft.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says finally. Voice ragged. “That night. I just didn’t want you to walk away. I would have never hurt you like that.”

You nod. “I know.”

He breathes out. Shaky. Like that those words steadied something inside him.

You lie down first.

He lowers himself to sit beside you.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t reach for your hand. He lies back slowly—on top of the covers. Boots still on. Like he’s afraid to get comfortable.

You curl on your side and close your eyes.

He stays awake. Silent.

Because all he can think is that he’s losing you and he hasn’t even had the chance to keep you yet.

#fanfic #severus snape #severus snape x reader #harry potter

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swallowedbyfandom · 11 months ago

Text

Her chambers soon begin to look like a florist shop. Colin has been a busy bee, she will give him that. He has sent her beautiful elaborate bouquets everyday this week with sweet little cards attached. In the week since that awful dinner at Bridgerton house Colin has managed to purchased a home in Bloomsbury. He has also interviewed and hired several servants to fill household positions. There have been trips to the lawyers and other legal affairs that has the Ton holding their breath. It is clear to all he is preparing to take a wife.

Her mother observes the situation with a shark's predatory anticipation. It is almost makes Penelope sad that her mother cannot see what he does not do. He has not gone to see a doctor yet nor has he had one come to call. She is serious about that, she had once overheard a midwife tell her mama that certain illness can led to infertility. While at the time she did not understand, what they were speaking on she does now. Her Papa's whoring likely left her mama unable to carry a child again. Colin has not come to call and he still has not come to her mama to formally declare his intentions to court her.

Frankly she has stated clearly what her expectations are for a suitor. That he is still falling short of her expectations is his own doing. He had eight weeks to work with. He just burned nine days of that with half measures. Flowers are a nice gesture but they are an empty gesture when she has a home filled with gentlemen callers daily. When they take time from their day to hand deliver her flowers and sweets. When they line up and wait to spend time with her. He is stalling, and falling woefully behind.

She is standing with Agatha who has used her dragon's glare to give her succor during the last three balls. The pickings of available bachelors worth spending time with tonight is minuscule. They are in the middle of giggling like schoolgirls over Lord Duncan trying to hide behind a curtain, when she spots Francesca looking uncomfortable with Lord Samadani. She lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Please pardon me. I must rescue Fran from the Queen's import. Please let her Majesty know they are incompatible. He wants an army of children and Francesca does not want more than two." Agatha lets out a snort, with a knowing smirk.

She makes her way over to Fran who is politely trying to give the Marquis a not so subtle hint. She flashes Fran a reassuring smile and smoothly cuts into Lord Samadani's ramble.

"Please pardon my interruption, my Lord. Francesca, Lady Danbury has been trying to get your attention. I believe she has a message from your mama to pass along."

Francesca gives her a relieved smile, before turning to excuse herself from Lord Samadani. Penelope opens mouth to excuse herself also, when she spots Fife making his way over to her.

She grabs Lord Samadani's arm and turns her wide panic filled eyes on him. She speaks rapidly.

"You must sign my card and take me to dance immediately."

To his credit he reaches for her dance card as he speaks.

"Why am I breaking the rules of etiquette to dance with a Lady I have not yet been introduced to?"

"You are a gentleman are you not? I am a Lady in distress. What better reason is there?"

They take their positions on the dance floor.

"Are you really in distress?" He asks her.

She places her hand on his shoulder and relaxes her frame while responding.

"I assure you my Lord, any Lady with sense would be distressed by Lord Fife. I am sure that if I am forced to dance with him once more tonight I shall stab him with a dessert fork."

He releases a deep rich laughter that draws attention to them. He smirks at her.

"May I have the name of the violent lady I am to dance with?"

Giggles escape her as she demurs.

"Penelope Featherington, my Lord. However I dispute the claim that I am violent. I prefer the term vigilant." She frowns as she continues speaking. "Lord Fife is swine. He enjoys making comments that are improper. While I may not understand the actual innuendos, I understand his leering looks enough to be uncomfortable."

The Marquis looks decidedly less amused by that. His frame carries a tension now it did not before. She distracts him with questions about his country. He is surprisingly charming and intelligent. He escorts to her to Albion after their set is complete and once he sees Lord Fife approaching again, this time trailed by Colin he signs her card for a second dance. Thankfully it is her last spot available on her dance card. She gives him a curtsy while graciously thanking him for his aid. Now she has a viable reason to deny Fife and Colin both a dance.

Colin is lucky she is not holding a drink in her hand when he asked why she did not keep a dance available for him. She for certain would have thrown it into his face at that moment. The hubris of that question fills her with rage. They have been at this ball for hours if he wanted to dance with her he should have asked when she arrived. She has danced six sets tonight with a variety of different gentlemen. She has danced an additional four sets that were second dances. Lord Samadani will be the fifth Gentleman she has a second dance with that night. That Colin thought he would swoop in the last hour of the ball and finally grace her with his presence. He must believe her desperate or still a silly girl waiting for crumbs of his attention.

The carriage ride back is entirely too long in Penelope's opinion. Her mother has spent the ride blatantly evaluating Penelope. She allows her mother to look her fill without comment until she figures out which question she wants to ask. Finally Portia seems to make up her mind.

"Have you finally given up on Mr. Bridgerton?"

She rolls her eyes. God, her mama is so short sighted.

"Contrary to what you like to believe I had never really set my sights on Mr. Bridgerton."

Her mother scoffs in response.

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, before she continues speaking.

"You don't have to believe me. Your opinion in the grand scheme of things matters very little. I have always adored the Bridgertons as a whole. It is also true I have always held tender feelings for Colin. However I never expected anything to come from it. I was aware that our close childhood bond would always have him viewing me as a little girl. I did not try to entice him. I never felt the potential fallout with his family to be worth the risk."

"If I were as blinded by love as you believe, I would have accepted his proposal. I did not because I am no longer certain he would be an ideal husband for me. He has allowed peer pressure to dictate a change in his values and behavior. What use would I have for a fickle husband?"

"If he wants to be my husband he will prove it. He will swallow his pride, eat his words and court me publicly. He doesn't get a pass because we were childhood playmates. We are not children any longer. I will not marry unless I am sure my husband will not leave me and our children in dire straits the way papa did to us. I am more practical than you believe."

"I do not need to be in love to marry well. I am looking for a stable partner I can grow to love. I am looking for a man who will think disappointing me is a fate worse than death. Who will choose me and our children before anything else. I would rather be a spinster than settle for less than that."

Her mother's lips are white with how hard they are pursed together.

"Colin Bridgerton looks down on our family, mama. He thinks he would be doing me a favor by marrying me, and saving me the shame of the Featherington name. Our family may be a scandalous mess, but we are survivors. While I am not proud to be a Featherington, I am proud to be Penelope Featherington. If I allow him the upper hand of being my white knight now, he will have it forever."

Her mama looks so pensive. Penelope allows herself to lean forward and drop a kiss on her forehead.

"I have been caring for myself for years now, mama. Put your efforts on my sisters they need you, I do not."

Her mama seems to startle at that. " I have tried my best with all of you girls. You know that right?"

Penelope exhales heavily she is too tired and short tempered for this conversation.

"No you did not. You tried and failed with my sisters. Phil and Pru are helpless and without a single drop of cunning. You married them to idiots. Albion and Philippa I can understand. They are in love and happy but neither of them is particularly bright. They are one shady steward away from poverty. Albion needs someone to teach him how to run an estate. Hopefully his parents will do so."

"Pru and Harry are doomed. Harry is sweet and simple, Pru will take advantage of him. While the Dankworth fortune is sizable, it is not so sizable that it can withstand Prudence's spending and inheriting the debt remaining on the Featherington estate."

"That your daughter's are completing to inherit that debt, should tell you everything you need to know. Yes a son will secure the title of Baron but it will also inherit the mess Papa and Jack made. If either of my sister's had sense they would pray for a daughter. If you had sense you would remarry and wash your hands of papa's mess. That is why I have finally entered the marriage mart. I am looking to wash my hands of our family."

"You have never tried to help me succeed, mama. Everything I am, I am in spite of you. Perhaps you were trying to make me strong? I doubt it though you are not a long term planner. You love me. I know this but you do not like me. That is fine. I feel the same way. We do not have to play pretend with each other, mama. We are adults."

Her mother remains quiet after that. She knows she has broken something irreparable between her mother and her. However they have been broken for years. Why should she be the only person to carry that burden?

She has carried the Featheringtons far enough. She has kept them off the streets. The more she thinks on it the more she realizes that the money she has set aside for her mother is unearned. Why would she leave almost half her earnings for her mother to spend on tacky gowns? Let her mother count on her son in laws or let her remarry.

She has worked hard to secure her future. Why the hell would she leave behind half her fortune? No. She isn't leaving anything behind. She has already done more for them, than they ever did for her.

#bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #polin #unhinged penelope featherington #portia featherington #penelope x colin

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drizzleoftherain · 3 months ago

Text

Liturgia

Chapter 3: It’s Become a Habit, a Way to Start the Day

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

Author's note: I have been sent to spread the joy of pop music. There’s a playlist and a mood-board.

The afternoon sun was coming through the studio’s bare windows, the rays of light casting shadows along the carpet. It wasn’t late by any means, but the tilt of the Earth was sure making it seem like it was. Ava sat on a stool with a microphone in front of her. She was in the middle of a recording session with Michael and a couple of other sound engineers.

She didn’t know what kind of musical spirit had taken over her body, but everything was about this song was working out better than expected. It was surprising how quickly this album was taking shape, which spoke for itself, because it had never flowed so easily in the past. She listened to the playback, taken aback with how much her sound had changed. Even her vocal range had shifted to something lower, more powerful and commanding, she still had her trademark falsettos to fall back on, but this was a good different, something she hoped people would also enjoy.

Michael waved to catch her attention as the song ended, pointing at her phone. She slotted the headphones on top of the stand and stepped outside the recording area to retrieve it.

“You’ve received a couple of messages, I didn’t want to interrupt.” Michael sat behind the console next to the other engineers, they were still adding some final mixes to the song.

Fuck, Beatrice. She had meant to reply to the lunch request, but had been too caught up with the song. “Thanks, I’ll just be a few minutes.” She stepped outside the studio, closing the door behind her.

Donatello

[Hey, sorry I didn’t hear back about lunch and just wanted to check that we were still doing that?]

[If not, that’s fine I’ll just grab something after vocal training.]

[I’m so sorry Bea!]

[I promise I didn’t forget about you. The creative juices were flowing and I lost track of time.]

[I’m also very sorry you had to read that. Please ignore the juices flowing.]

The dots appeared and reappeared a few times as Ava waited for a reply. Beatrice seemed to either be writing the world's largest text message or she couldn't decide what to respond.

[That’s okay!]

[I hope everything has been going well at the studio.]

[More than!]

[Are you free now? I’m itching to show the song to someone other than my producer and his minions.]

[I can be persuaded, my couch is very comfortable though.]

[You get to meet Michael Salvius.]

[I’ll be there in twenty.]

Exactly twenty minutes later there was a knock on the studio door. Michael was on his feet first, sliding the door open. Ava watched from behind the glass as the two shook hands and introduced themselves, Michael extended the formality to the others. Beatrice caught her eyes moments later, giving her a small smile.

Ava bounced towards the group. “So, wanna hear it?”

They took a seat while Michael prepped the song for playback.

The song began with a scat on the drums, Ava’s voice sing-talking along. Heavy synthesizers took over the studio speakers, a sound that was strikingly similar to the noise a motorcycle makes when the engine is revved along with drums heavy with intention and rhythm. Beatrice must not have expected this because her eyes became large with astonishment after Ava’s first verse.

Yo soy muy mía, yo me transformo

Una mariposa, yo me transformo

Makeup de drag queen, yo me transformo

Lluvia de estrellas, yo me transformo

The technical engineers discussed amongst each other as the song went on, still mixing and mastering the sound. Beatrice’s mouth was partially open and Ava could tell she was enjoying it as her foot bounced along with the tempo.

Como un pavo real, bebé

La cerilla al quemar, bebé

Tu cara, tu mirá', bebé

Si te vuelvo a besar, bebé

They had reached the stretch of the song that was still unfinished, it was missing something that they still hadn’t quite figured out, but Ava knew to trust the process, it would come to them, there was no reason to rush it. “We’re still thinking about this part, something to get us to the bridge.”

Beatrice was quiet for a second, still taking in the synths and drums as the beat stretched. “The beginning with the scatting, it’s jazz influenced.” She spoke to Ava who nodded, “Why don’t you continue with something improvisational? Stylistic? Only for that section.”

Michael was listening along now too. “Like an entire change of tone?”

Before Beatrice could reply, Ava took her hand, leading her inside the recording area. “Show me.”

“Is the piano ready?” Beatrice pointed while walking to the instrument.

“Yes.”

Beatrice stood before it, her hand hovering above the keys, thinking. “Start from the second verse.” The verse played, and Beatrice played two notes, then a chord, then another two sets of ascending notes, another chord, both incohesive and discordant. Then, she sat and her hands moved across the keys as if it wasn’t the most impressive thing in the world that she had practically improvised a jazz standard with multiple chord changes and tones.

“What the fuck!”

Beatrice was still focused, ignoring Ava’s outburst. “I would increase the tempo of the scatting if you were to do something like this.”

“We’re using exactly that. That’s it.” Ava leaned against the side of the upright piano, “That is if you’re okay with it of course. You’ll get writing credits as well.”

Beatrice was speechless, and her cheeks slightly pink. “I couldn’t. You guys have already done so much and that was like less than ten seconds of work.”

“Oh Beatrice, you beautiful, naive, sophisticated newborn baby, people have done far less for writing credits.” Ava could see Beatrice’s face go from utter confusion to amusement in a span of a second.

“Did you just Parks and Rec. me?”

“Indeed! Ava turned to Michael, “Let’s hear it.”

Once they were all satisfied with the end result and Beatrice’s writing credits were solidified, signed off, and metaphorically stamped, the two women lingered after Michael and his team left for the evening. They both shared the stool in front of the piano where Beatrice had been teaching Ava a few jazz chord progressions, something that had turned out to be more difficult than expected.

“I promise I can play this instrument, you’re just like a crazy piano prodigy,” Ava spoke while messing up the same four chords again.

Beatrice chuckled, raising her hand to hover over Ava’s. She pressed down on Ava’s fingers gently, dragging the hand along the four chords again. “Remember it’s all about spontaneity, even if you mess up just don’t show it, create something else. That’s the point.”

Ava tried again, coming to the same outcome. “You know what, I give up. Maybe jazz isn’t for me.” Beatrice was smirking in a way too smug kinda way and Ava was not having it. “Now, I feel like I need to play something just so you believe me. I can see it on your face. I'm a fraud.”

Beatrice actually snickered at that. “I promise I don’t think you’re a fraud!”

Ava huffed, hands already on the keys. She was going to play something and she was going to play something so well that the stupid smug grin on Beatrice’s face was going to wish it hadn’t presented itself.

The song began softly, just a few notes, and a flourish here and there. Then, the melody slowly became known, the sound took over the dimly lit room. Beatrice listened silently, taking in the soothing tune.

Ava stopped, somewhat shy with the shift in mood. Maybe she should have played something more lively.

“Don’t stop,” Beatrice’s voice was soft. “I love this song.”

Their eyes met briefly, enough for Ava to look down at the keys again, far too bashful. She continued from where she left off, the song reaching the chorus. Then, Beatrice’s calm voice joined harmonising along with the piano.

I go through all this before you wake up

So I can feel happier to be safe up here with you

I go through all this before you wake up

So I can feel happier to be safe up here with you

And somehow to Ava’s credit she kept going, even though all she wanted to do was listen to Beatrice sing.

It's early morning, no one is awake

I'm back at my cliff, still throwing things off

I listen to the sounds they make on their way down

I follow with my eyes till they crash

She joined Beatrice, both singing together.

I imagine what my body would sound like

Slamming against those rocks

And when it lands

Will my eyes be closed or open?

They finished the song together, both their voices blending perfectly. Ava’s voice was slightly higher, contrasting impeccably with Beatrice’s deeper richer one. It was still, so still that they could hear the last of the faint vibrations of the piano’s strings.

Ava was the first to speak. “So, Björk.”

“Björk.” Beatrice’s head was bowed, her eyes shifting along the keys. “What beautiful morbidity.”

“You know, I never understood how people could misjudge that song. Always just lingering on the suicidal ideation.”

Beatrice‘s eyes were on her, “But it’s really about casting away your negativity, the fear of whatever comes next.”

“Well, yes there’s that but also not carrying everything on your own. It’s allowing yourself to be intimate with your emotions and inner demons and sharing them with the person you love.”

Beatrice’s eyebrows were downcast. “Wait, but she doesn’t say that at all.”

Ava swatted Beatrice’s arm, bouncing a little on the shared bench, “That’s the point! She’s not sharing her negative emotions out of fear that her relationship will be too fragile to endure it.”

It took a second, but eventually Beatrice nodded along taking in Ava’s words. “Hmm, I hadn’t considered that.” She looked down at her wrist, checking the time on her watch. “Great Scott! Is that the time? Camila is going to murder me.”

Ava had to double check if the person next to her was in fact a seventy year old grandmother. “What’s up?”

“I was meant to meet her at Harrods for some last minute Christmas shopping,” She stood from the stool already beelining for the production room. “I sort of forgot to get presents with everything that’s been happening.”

Ava lowered the piano’s lid, following closely behind.

They draped on their coats for the cold night air and made their way down the steps to the ground floor of the studio. It was early evening by this point.

“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the night?” Beatrice held the door open for both of them, Ava slightly crouching underneath her arm to go through.

Ava adjusted the scarf around her neck. “Probably get some takeout and watch Derry Girls for like the third time.” She hoped the disappointment in their time being cut short wasn’t too obvious. “A little reward after today.”

Eyes looked at her curiously as if Beatrice could read her mind. “Do you want to tag along? We can get some kebabs on the way.” She added quickly, “And I kind of want to see Camila freak out.”

Ava breathed out, the temptation was strong. “I’m not sure, crowded confined places are not safe for me.”

“Oh. You mean because you’ll be–”

“Yeah, that small detail. I’ll be recognised.”

“How about this?” Beatrice pulled a navy beanie from her coat pocket, presenting it to Ava. “It’s not much, but I think you could get away with at least people not going in for the double take.”

Her eyes went from the beanie to Beatrice.

They grabbed kebabs and a large chips to share between them as they walked to the nearest train entrance. Beatrice had set up the pass system on her phone, then went first showing Ava what to do. They dug into the chips by the tracks and busily chewed, unable to form any kind of conversation. Everyone around them far too tired from the long work day to even lift their heads from their phones. The train arrived just as Beatrice threw the last of their consumables in the bin.

On the train they were able to find a small corner to fit into, barely avoiding the amount of people crammed into the cart. Ava was against the wall too far from any kind of handle to hold on to with Beatrice directly in front of her, shielding her from view. The train jolted forward causing her to lose her balance, but not before Beatrice with her free hand managed to right her back up. She then pressed her hand on the wall to Ava’s side so that she wouldn’t shift further.

Ava looked up with a thankful smile and Beatrice took a second to carefully adjust the beanie on her head, pulling it down more. “Keep your head down.” She did as instructed and found that Beatrice’s Chucks surrounded her Vans, further holding her to the spot.

The train ride went on without any fanfare, just the occasional glance up to check for their stop, which after the first few times turned into an excuse to look at Beatrice. Ava wasn’t sure what was commanding her to do it and she had never been the type to gawk, much less at a person. There was something about the way Beatrice held her neck when she was looking away, it was long, strong, and with the tiniest freckle on the left side. There was an aura about it as well, like she had been instructed her whole life to keep her head held high through proper posture.

“Something on my face?”

“Wha–”

“You were staring.”

“Now arriving at Knightbridge station,” The automated voice echoed across the cart.

“That’s our stop isn’t it?” Beatrice craned her neck double checking. Then, without confirming, gripped Ava’s hand and began to push through the throngs of people.

The crowds in the street were riddled with work commuters and visitors alike, and if you weren’t going home you were headed to Harrods. The building glowed against the backdrop of the cloudy night sky. The Christmas display was up in full swing as everyone around snapped photos. She had never been inside the building itself, but knew exactly what she was about to run into. The place was swanky, like they grew their own yarn, imported slabs of chocolate, and had in stock Gwyneth Paltrow’s Vibe Altering-Stickers, swanky.

They went through the double doors and Ava followed Beatrice to the lower ground where Camila said she would be. Christmas literally exploded, there were rows and rows of ornaments and decorations with gift wrapping available practically everywhere she looked. The atmosphere calmed her in the sense that she wouldn’t be recognised, but then filled her with fear for her safety for a completely different reason. People. So many people at various stages of stress frantically looking for gifts.

Ava felt her phone vibrating in her coat pocket. Emilia. She answered the call signaling to Beatrice that she’d be a moment. “Hello.”

“I know you told me you were going to be in the studio the whole day, but I figured you might want to hear me out.” Emilia’s voice came through. “Are you not in the studio? I can hear a lot on your end.”

“No, finished up. Getting groceries.” She regretted it the moment it came out of her mouth. She kept her eyes on Beatrice as she wandered off in search of Camila.

“You. Getting groceries?” As if it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “I do fear hell has frozen over, Ava.”

It annoyed Ava that she was somewhat right in mocking her. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“The Grammy’s called just now, apparently they’re going to honour Max Martin this year with a Lifetime Achievement Award. They were wondering if you wanted to be part of the tribute given that you’ll already be there to present the Album of the Year Award.”

“What’s the tribute?”

“His music through the years, that sort of thing, with different performers. A medley of sorts.”

“When do they need an answer?” She fiddled with a snowflake ornament, needing something to do other than looking around nervously. She wanted to focus on the album that was her priority, anything else was going to take too much of her time. Agreeing to this meant agreeing to rehearsals.

“Tomorrow at the latest, they want to start workshopping ideas with the talents as soon as possible.”

Beatrice was waving at her with Camila in tow. She waved back while giving Emilia a quick reply in the hopes that she could get off the call, “I’ll call tomorrow with an answer. Goodnight!” The other women joined her as she hung up.

Camila had a huge smile as she greeted her, barely containing her excitement.“Well, this is unexpected!”

“Hi, Camila.” Beatrice nudged her friend in a futile attempt to get her off her stupor. “I hear we’re going to do a bit of Christmas shopping.”

“We are! This is my first time inside Harrods, I mean, first time here to shop that is.” Her curly hair bounced behind her as she spoke.

And they were off. They looked through displays pointing out at all the decorations that caught their eyes while making ridiculous cute noises at the stuffed animals or endearing wood pieces. They squeezed through small openings, barely managing to not drop things in their path. At some point Ava spotted a pair of wearable antlers and begged Beatrice to wear them. Actually, there wasn’t a lot of begging because Beatrice tutted only once as a show of reluctance but then put them on without much fuss.

Camila rushed to grab a basket with hands already too full to keep going. As they passed a nature display she spoke up, “What have we got here? A £79 bird on a stick?” The thing looked like it was about the snap off.

Beatrice chuckled good naturally. “It goes perfectly with a £2500 nutcracker.”

“Who are they kidding with these prices?” Camila said all while continuing to add things to her basket.

Ava walked behind them accidentally making eye contact with a massively creepy felt reindeer that was too human for her own liking. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” She flicked the reindeer’s nose, “What happened that time I asked you guys to open for my London show?”

The speed in which Camila spun around gave her whiplash, “What?”

“Must have been three years ago I think while I was here doing the tour, my assistant contacted your manager at the time,” She explained shifting a few things around, avoiding Camila’s gaze was priority number one, “We were told the schedules conflicted.”

“Beatrice, did you know about this?” Camila’s voice had an accusatory tone, intriguing Ava because Beatrice was quiet, too quiet. The arms crossed stance was not usual for Beatrice as far as Ava was aware, which meant she had accidentally opened the floodgates to something.

“I…I’m not– I don’t remember the specifics,” She began, choosing her words carefully, Camila was also crossing her arms now, “We were doing festivals around that time and Vincent …he wasn’t managing requests well.”

Camila looked Beatrice up and down, “Go on.”

Oh yeah, she should not have asked.

“Vincent asked while I was between interviews, I thought he was joking, I obviously couldn’t believe it so I dismissed it.” Her gaze fell on Ava, she saw the guilt on Beatrice’s face. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful around him.”

Ava came to stand between them, putting a soothing hand on each of them, “It’s okay guys, I know how difficult it can all be in the beginning. No harm done.” She winked at Camila, “Plus, now you owe me.”

Camila somewhat acquiesced with a tiny shrug, “Beatrice will pay in time.” Said person gave her friend a sheepish smile in return.

In the middle of an ornament comparison session, Beatrice’s phone rang, she informed Camila that it was Suzanne before answering the call. “Suzanne? Hi.” Ava could tell Beatrice was struggling to hear with all the noise around them. “No, yes, she’s here with me, that's why she’s not answering her phone.”

Camila perked up, “Me?”

Beatrice spoke to Camila, “The others are on the line, Suzanne has news for us.” Her bandmate came closer standing on her tiptoes to reach where Beatrice held the phone and Beatrice must have realised because she lowered herself to meet Camila’s ear with the phone.

Both women listened carefully, nodding silently along to whatever the conversation was about. Then, a couple of emotions went through their faces, shock, realisation and then joy. Camila was jumping, Beatrice was trying to keep herself balanced while being tugged along in every direction, the phone’s trajectory at some point was the floor, then, it started bouncing between Beatrice’s hands before she got a good grip again.

“Oh my God!” Camila rushed to Ava enveloping her in a big hug, completely forgetting that a conversation was being had. “We just got nominated for a Grammy!”

“Woah!” Ava was jumping now too, just as high as Camila as they both held each other celebrating.

Beatrice looked at them amused, “Everyone is very happy!” She watched as the bouncing turned into a weird dance session along with unnecessary hip movements. “There’s more!”

“WHAT! WHAT!”

“We’re performing, some kind of tribute.” Beatrice turned in an attempt to hear the phone more clearly. “Okay, sounds good, I’ll let Camila know and then we can all get together and talk about this.” It wasn’t long until she rejoined Ava and Camila sporting a really cute smile and those small crescents again. And in that instance Ava decided all at once that she wanted to be the cause of one of those smiles, or definitely a few she was a highly motivated overachiever after all.

Camila rushed her friend in another world shifting hug, which Beatrice was now actually ready for. “BEAAAA! A fucking Grammy!”

Beatrice was practically holding Camila upright at this point. “Best new artist!”

“A GRAMMY!”

“Congratulations guys!”

“Bring it in, Ava,” And now she too was in a Camila headlock, as they all bounced in place. Everyone around them too caught up with whatever they were doing to pay them any mind.

“There's going to be a Max Martin tribute, we’ve been asked to take part in it, but we have to discuss it with the rest of the group.” Beatrice explained the bit Camila had missed during her celebration rampage.

“Oh please!” They began walking through the crowd again, Camila held her basket above her head, protecting the goods. “Where’s the register? I need to leave this place before I sign my life away again.”

As they stood in line for the register, Ava spoke up, “The call I received earlier was about that as well, they’re also asking me to be part of it.”

“No way! Will you? You’ve got to! It’s Max Martin, who can say no to that man.” Apparently, Ava could and was about to.

Beatrice was observing her, no doubt waiting for her answer as well. “Will you forgive Beatrice if I say ‘yes’?

Camila couldn’t hold back the huge smile from taking over her features. “I will definitely forgive Beatrice. Clean slate!”

And Beatrice, she was smiling too, “Then, yes. I’ll do it! For Beatrice of course.” Ava nudged Beatrice, all too pliant in the way she swayed on the spot.

They were in the home goods section now where a candle snuffer was the current hot topic. It was Beatrice who had found it, and by this point on her third explanation as to why her mother needed it. Ava was amused with the sibling dynamic, Camila no doubt younger kept insisting that Beatrice was losing her Goddamn mind right now.

“Beatrice, you cannot get your mother a £250 candle snuffer.” Beatrice was opening her mouth to protest, “If you say ‘she can’t just blow on it’ I will skin you with it.”

Ava wanted to add fuel to the fire, or in this case a candle. “What about this?” She held a white candle up for them, “It’s tuberose scented.”

“What in the world is tuberose?” Camila inquired, holding the object in her hand, “Am I poor?”

“ Agave amica, ” Beatrice said nonchalantly, “It’s a flower.”

That was definitely not going to help, but it did momentarily glitch Ava’s neurons in the best of ways.

“I’m poor.”

Beatrice held up a pair of wick trimmers, “Maybe I’ll get this as well? Make it a set.”

Ava wasn’t sure if Camila understood that Beatrice was messing with her now. “Are those fucking scissors £500?”

Ava went in for the jugular, “To be exact they’re £563.”

Camila threw her hands up in surrender and then pointed at Beatrice with all the wrath of a French peasant, “You’re the 1%.” She then turned to Ava, “Not you Ava, you’re the wind beneath my wings,” before she scurried away.

They were taking the escalator down when it happened. There was a sudden flash coming from above them. Beatrice and Camila froze, not anticipating the unnatural intrusion of lights going off. Ava knew better, she pulled the beanie as far down as possible, exiting as quickly as she could. The women followed closely behind her, necks jumping for the photographers to Ava’s swift moving form.

Beatrice jogged to her side. “How can I help? What can I do?” Her voice rushed out, panicked.

Ava ducked behind one of the tables with a Christmas pudding display, Camila and Beatrice following her lead. “I need an emergency exit.”

Both of the women’s heads popped up, searching frantically. “Down the chocolate display cabinets to the left.” Beatrice ducked back down. “We’ll cut straight through it’ll be okay.” She watched as both Camila and Ava nodded in confirmation and then an idea came to her. “Ava, give the beanie to Camila.” Ava did as she was told, understanding immediately what was about to happen.

Camila put it on without hesitation, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Ava made a noise between a snort and a laugh while looking between Beatrice and Camila affectionately. “Do you hear it, Cam?” She mimicked the iconic sound, making popping noises with her mouth, “ Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.”

“Oh, I hear it.” She stood fixing the beanie more snuggly around her head, she directed her eyes towards the photographers who were sifting through every possible space searching for Ava. “ Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.” She saluted them one last time then ran for her life, colourful shopping bags shaking from side to side.

Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well

They watched her go, her small legs going so fast that metaphorically there was dust in her wake. A photographer pointed at her retreating form shouting at the others to follow. Beatrice grabbed her hand. “Don’t let go.” And honestly, she didn’t need to be told twice.

Get back, get down

Pull me closer if you think you can hang

Hands up, hands tied

Don't go screamin' if I blow you with a bang

They ran to the chocolate cabinets, pushing through as many people as they could. A child screamed bloody murder as their tray of chocolates hit the floor. Beatrice’s grip was solid, pulling her along through pure adrenaline alone. She kicked the emergency door open and proceeded to glide down the stairs, a feat that Ava was finding a lot more difficult to manage, but somehow she was still on her feet.

Going nought to bitch, I'll see four million

Accelerating fast, I can do this in a second

Lookin' in the rear view, swaggin' goin' swell

Leavin' boys behind ‘cause it’s illegal just to kill

They were outside before she even realised. Beatrice slowed, taking in her surroundings. “You okay?”

Ava was in fact not okay. She had gone down ten flights of stairs and her cardio was abysmal when in off season. It was a miracle that she even had enough breath to breathe, which should pretty much answer Beatrice.

How was Beatrice managing to speak right now? How had those stupid antlers not fallen off!

“Fuck,” Her hand was gripped again and she was pulled forward, this time though their hands were clammy and Beatrice was losing her grip. Before they lost their momentum their fingers entwined and if Ava wasn’t so busy running for her life she would have lingered on it.

Ava focus !

The crowd behind was growing with noise and Ava could only assume the photographers had realised Camila was a distraction.

“Your phone!” Beatrice yelled mid breath. “Get your phone ready!”

By the time she looked up from her phone they had made it to the underground. She scanned her face and slammed the thing to the receiver. They made it down the escalator and a train was there waiting. The announcement came through of the doors closing. Beatrice pulled her inside, and Ava slammed onto her chest as the doors shut behind them.

Shift gear, automatic, damned if I do

Who's gonna stop me when I'm coming through?

What we got left is just me and you

But if I go to bed, baby, can I take you?

Turns out just jumping into a random train wasn’t the best idea because they had to redirect themselves a couple of stations down, but thankfully no photographers to avoid just a teenager who absolutely lost their mind.

The streets were quiet by the time they made it to Ava’s rental. They had survived mostly unscathed, except for Beatrice’s candle which had unfortunately shattered due to all the commotion. Ava was sure there would be pictures and she was already planning on giving Emilia a phone call tonight.

“Ava, I am so sorry about putting you in that situation.” Beatrice had been eerily silent up to this point. Hearing her voice alleviated Ava’s concerns somewhat since she was already jumping onto the conclusion that it had all been too much. “I should have listened earlier instead of steamrolling you into it.” The way she was looking at Ava was devastating.

Ava was not upset in the least though, she had a great time with Beatrice and Camila. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt normal, just out and about with friends without the constant nagging feeling in her head. “Are you kidding? That was amazing!”

Beatrice watched her carefully, “Are you sure?”

Ava skipped forward, walking backwards in front of Beatrice. “Sure, I’m sure!”

“I completely understand if you never want a repeat of that.”

“You know, after a point things like that aren’t avoidable, you gotta make do with what you can.”

“Still, I should have been more careful, it wasn’t safe for you.” Beatrice was beating herself up for the night's events, her gaze downcast on the pavement.

Ava stopped and placed her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, “Hey, I’m fine. See?” She spun in place. “And I got free cardio out of it!” She gestured with her head towards an apartment flat on their right. “Here’s my stop.”

They walked down the small but well kept garden. The lights were all off except for the streetlamp a couple of homes away. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself then.” Beatrice was starting to sound a little better though slightly conflicted.

“Camila definitely enjoyed herself.” They both laughed. “I should probably thank her, it couldn’t have been easy.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it if I give you her number.”

“Please do! She’s my new partner in crime after all.”

Beatrice huffed in a playful outraged manner, her insanely cute stupid antlers still perfectly on her head. “Wow, I’ve been replaced already. I should have known!”

“I could never replace you.” It came out with too much sincerity to be offhanded.

Beatrice’s cheeks had become pinker suddenly, a small smile creeping by her eyes. “I’ll see you after the holidays?”

“Already counting the days.” She doesn’t know what possessed her, but she leaned forward giving Beatrice a kiss on the cheek. “Happy Holidays, Beatrice.”

Beatrice was stock-still, eyes shifting back and forth between Ava’s own. And after a few seconds she breathed in and said, “Happy Holidays, Ava.”

Ava closed the door behind her, but couldn’t bring herself to walk much further. She leaned on it for support with her head against the wood, and then slowly released a long breath. The tips of her ears felt hot and her hands buzzed on the door handle. Her heart was thudding rapidly inside her chest and she felt dizzy and completely still all at once.

Hmm

—

[Did you just link me homework?]

[I sent you jazz scales, for practice while you’re away.]

[You sent me homework while on holiday. What kind of monster are you!?]

–

[Did you know that Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and ABC’s have the same melody!?]

[Yes, I did know that.]

[My mind is blown!]

–

[I just googled you. How are you younger than me?]

[Why are you googling me? Also, I don’t believe you.]

[I was bored and wanted insider knowledge. Google it!]

[Unbelievable. Do your scales!]

–

{hahahhoo.jpeg}

[Is that Camila tripping into one of the Christmas displays?]

[Yes! The beanie came off and everything, no wonder they figured it out so quickly.]

[I showed her, she said “I will treasure this ‘til my dying day”.]

[There’s a dopey one of you with the antlers, looks like you’re mid sneeze.]

{sneezyface.jpeg}

[How do I unaccept this?]

[Oh, it’s on the internet, there’s no unaccepting it.]

[I need to get in contact with our publicist.]

[It’s my chat background now, it’s too late.]

–

[How are your holidays going so far?]

[Great! I’ve been eating and sleeping like the lazy bum I am.]

[Haven’t thought of the album at all. Not one bit.]

[You’re editing aren’t you?]

[Wouldn’t you like to know!?]

[That’s why I asked!]

[What about you? What have you been up to?]

[Mostly studio time. Everyone is free so we’ve been consistently putting work into the album.]

[We’re getting together tomorrow night for Christmas Eve dinner.]

[You got presents for everyone?]

[Yes, I managed to pick up Lilith’s this morning. I'm sure she’ll absolutely love a Madonna greatest hits compilation.]

[If I don’t hear from you I’ll assume you’re dead and begin to plot my revenge.]

[Oh? Are you going to protect me from Lilith?]

[Silly, Bea, I’m rich, not stupid.]

[I’ll send an assassin and also you’re already dead.]

[Maybe I’ll shed a few tears.]

[What can I even say to that?]

[I guess I can die at peace now that I know what to expect.]

[What! No! Don’t say that!]

[I’ll avenge you! I’ll do it myself. Where does she live?!]

{Aurora - Starvation}

[Here. Your battle song.]

[Aurora! You just reminded me that I need to listen to her new album.]

[Okay woah!]

[Battle music but with a dance break?]

[Wait, are we having a dance battle?]

[I will protect your honour or whatever!]

[It’s not the Middle Ages!]

–

[Merry Christmas, Ava.]

{10 hour Venga Boys video}

[Merry Christmas!]

[I’m currently on 04:36/10:00 hours in and it is literally the only thing holding me together right now.]

[I can’t imagine hopping on the Venga Bus for that long is psychologically sound.]

[I can only take so many cheek kisses and bendiciones.]

[What are you up to on the day of our Lord?]

[Just to mum’s for lunch and then not much else.]

[I can’t even sit long enough to respond! I gotta go make arroz con leche.]

[I’ll call you later?]

[I’d like that.]

–

When she’s finally settled for the night, with a book on her lap and a cup of tea by her side, Ava calls. Beatrice fights the urge to answer right away, barely keeping her fingers from swiping after the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice is quiet in her empty flat.

“Hi.” Ava’s is husky and low as if she’s trying to keep her voice down. “Sorry, give me a second. I'm trying to sneak away.”

Something inside Beatrice starts to panic, “Ava you didn’t have to go through the trouble. I know you’re with your family. Honestly, I’m happy to just ring you tomorrow or something.”

“You’re gonna ring me tomorrow?” Ava fondly mocks Beatrice’s accent, but continues, “You sound so posh right now. The phone is intensifying your accent. Or has it always been this… attractive?”

Beatrice is not sure how to respond to that. “I guess it must be the phone because I’m sure I’ve been English this whole time.”

“This whole time? Maybe it’s because I’m only focusing on your voice, it makes it more noticeable.”

“Your voice sounds different too.”

She could hear Ava settling somewhere, “Yeah?”

“Yes, it’s much lower.”

“Oh? Like, sexy low?”

“Like, when you sing sometimes in a lower register, your voice sounds fuller, more mature.” She was an idiot to the highest degree.

–

{Doechii - Denial is A River}

[I get it, Doechii. I get it.]

[Ava, it’s 3 AM!]

Before Ava even has a chance to reply, Beatrice is calling. “I promise I’m up for a totally respectable reason.”

“And what’s that?” Beatrice’s voice was groggy with sleep.

“I think I’ve reached a point of delirium. I caught myself rhyming the ABC’s with 123.”

Beatrice chucked. “As simple as do, re, mi.”

“You know what the worst part is?”

“Hmm?”

Ava pushed her laptop away, making space on top of her bed to lie down. “I want to keep it.”

“Maybe you can revisit this in the morning.”

“But— ”

“Are your creative juices flowing again?”

“I told you to ignore that!”

“I’m staying on the phone until you go to sleep.”

“Well, I’m staying on the phone until YOU go to sleep so that I can continue with the creative process.”

“Is that a challenge?”

When Ava woke up a few hours later she found her phone by the side of her face still on a call.

“Ava?”

“Who won?”

“I’m not sure, I think I fell asleep.”

–

Beatrice had been pulled into every direction at this point and her coordination was failing her. The not so spiked punch was starting to seem very messed with. The bathroom mirror reflected back a face covered in four different shades of lipstick, all courtesy of her bandmates.

The music vibrated off the door as the party continued outside.

As she rubbed at the marks on her face a video call came through her phone, which was dangerously dangling on the rim of the sink.

She answered, “Hi Ava.”

Ava’s face took a second to stabilise, “Happy New Year!” Ava mumbled. She was wearing a goofy hat and appeared to be scarfing down grapes.

“Happy New Year!”

“Are you in the bathroom?”

“Yes, just trying to remove lipstick off my face. Though it is proving futile.”

Ava’s face came closer to the phone, “Who are the kisses from?”

“Four drunkards wouldn’t leave me be.”

“Quick, I want you to make a wish.” Ava held a green grape up to the phone’s camera. “I’m on my last grape and I can’t think of anything else so I’m granting you my last wish.”

“Do I have to say it out loud?”

“No.”

—

“Absolutely not! This is not what we all agreed to do.” Beatrice was not having it. The plans had completely changed.

Suzanne sighed, shifting her weight on the chair in front of them. They were in the hotel lobby waiting for a van to take them to rehearsal. Her bandmates sat around in various stages of jet lag. “Did you or did you not agree to perform in the tribute?”

“Yes, WE–” She was cut off by Suzanne’s raised hand, Levy snickered nearby.

“Are you not part of the band, Beatrice?” The raised eyebrow was enough to send shivers down her spine.

She huffed, looking anywhere but at her manager’s face. This was upsetting her. She agreed with the band performing together, not to frolicking on stage to lame 90’s pop songs for the whole world to watch. “Why me? Camila and Lilith are great singers, and I’m sure they can pick up choreography just as quickly.”

“Camila and Lilith are not the image of the group.” Levy interjected, slightly annoyed that he even had to remind her in the first place. “You’re well aware that band leaders take on more public facing roles.”

She was desperately looking between her bandmates, “Guys?”

“I would love to, Bea, really, but I couldn’t possibly put that much choreography into memory.” Camila was avoiding her eyes, picking at something on her finger. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass us like that.”

“I’m not much of a court jester,” Lilith, on the other hand, made direct eye contact.

Yasmine and Mary were just quietly observing the exchanges, though she could tell they were sympathetic to her cause. “So, that’s it then?”

“Yes, we have agreed and this is what they want of us and you.”

And that was that. The ride to rehearsal was deadly silent. Beatrice knew when to swallow it down, she knew whatever her feelings were towards this didn’t matter. The frustrating part was that she actually had to put her best foot forward and represent her band well. Suzanne and Levy left them at rehearsal and the topic was not brought up again.

Two days later Ava walked through the dance studio’s door wearing a nude skort, a tucked in white t-shirt with stripes along her chest and hair slightly longer than she remembered. And for some reason making a fool of herself on live television didn’t seem so bad after all.

Ava greeted some of the dancers and shook the choreographer's hand, she then took in the studio and spotted her. The smile that spread across Ava’s face was toothy and too contagious not to return. Beatrice stood from where she was sitting, and all at once became hyper aware of just how much sweat was probably on her person. Ava set on a straight path towards her and she was having an internal panic attack.

She was crushed into a hug, “Fancy seeing you here.” Ava wiggled them in place for a few seconds before pulling away. “I thought you guys were just doing the three songs.”

It seems the Grammy’s did not have their shit together if this was news to Ava as well. “There was a last minute change, I think someone pulled out.”

“It was probably Chanel, she has commitment issues,” Ava was not at all phased by this apparently. Maybe Beatrice held these award shows in too high regard.

“Alright guys, now that Ava is here we can start to focus on the opening song.” The choreographer spoke, holding the remote control to the studio’s sound system.

Beatrice was happy for the downtime now that Ava had arrived and the rest of the tribute could start taking shape. She wasn’t in the opening song, but stayed behind to watch as everyone took their places with Ava at the center.

It was strange seeing Ava in person again after their time apart, whatever had transpired between them during the holidays just didn’t translate to the woman commanding such presence in front of her. The Ava she had grown to know was not who this Ava was.

Ava was so natural in this environment, even considering that she was learning all of this from scratch. At some point she was handed a serving tray prop covered in drinks and she spun around with it doing the choreography as if there was nothing to it.

The third day was Beatrice’s long day, both her and Ava arrived at the studio at the same time. Some of the dancers were already practicing the song with Ava watching them carefully. Beatrice joined along, already familiar with some of the moves. They started off moving like dolls bursting out of their storage boxes and then moved to more of the iconic moves of the song. Beatrice obviously feels the nostalgia coming in waves, remembering just how much she had watched this exact music video growing up.

The studio’s door opened, their choreographer came in followed by JC. Beatrice had met, or somewhat ran into him a couple of times by now at different festivals and events. He had been nice, a small chat here and there with not much commitment for more. He was basically the German Justin Bieber and barely on her music radar. He, like Ava, introduced himself around the room and then walked to the two of them.

“Ava!” He greeted her, the hug far too long for Beatrice’s taste.

“Hey, JC.” Ava pulled away, giving him a playful punch to the chest. “I guess our Justin is here, huh? Where’s the noodle hair?” She laughed, somewhat teasing. It seemed they both knew each other.

“Can you imagine!” He joined along with Ava’s laughter.

“JC, this is our JC, Beatrice.” Ava introduced them and Beatrice didn’t think to correct her.

“Oh, we’ve met! I think maybe a year ago in Glasgow.” Ava’s eyes shifted between them.

Beatrice nodded, “That’s right, a festival I think.” Honestly, she was surprised that he even remembered their conversation.

The music went off across the studio, no doubt the choreographer trying to get their attention.

The rest of rehearsal consisted of Beatrice and JC going back and forth between their parts with Ava just dancing along with the background dancers. Turns out that learning this before today meant nothing because JC was dancing circles around her within a few minutes, that’s not to say that Beatrice wasn’t holding her own because she was, but she was not used to singing and dancing. She had done ballet for years, she knew she had the stamina, but this was another monster and an angry sorta bubble was forming.

At some point JC took off his shirt which was equal parts alarming and annoying, everyone was distracted and everyone’s distraction was throwing her. Ava had completely caught up at this point as well, further adding to her incompetence.

It was her part again now, she shifted to the center and got slapped in the ass, “Let’s go, Bea!” Ava was to her right, hair stuck on her face from all the sweating that was happening. Her voice came through the held microphone, the booty tap far too encouraging. And the rest just flowed out of her somehow, even the ad libs and sustained notes.

The fourth day is another band day, they’re at the venue now, all set up on the moving platform. The stages around them are starting to take shape and various people are moving around the arena setting up. The music director is busy talking with the stage director and stage hands as everything around them continues to shift.

“Ladies, start with some warm ups, I’ll be done in a few minutes,” The musical directors paused the conversation long enough to address them.

They’re just going through their songs today and deciding on the presentation. Ava will be taking part in one of the songs. She’s with them now just as background vocals along with Lilith and Camila.

“So, what will it be?” Beatrice ventures, turning to her bandmates and Ava, who has found a spot by Camila directly behind Beatrice on her right. They usually start warm ups with some of their favourite oldies.

“Ava should pick since it’s her first time.” Camila said, messing with her keyboard’s synths.

“Pick what?”

“A song to warm up to. It’s gotta be an oldie but goodie,” Yasmine spoke up, already creating a beat with her kickdrum.

“Alright.” Ava thought for a moment her eyes moving across the small stage to all the members. Then, she leaned and whispered into Camila’s ear.

“Oooh that’s a really good one,” Camila said while grabbing the tambourine beside her and handing it to Ava. “Start us off.”

“And what? You’ll just know?”

“We’ll know.”

Ava bounced the instrument a couple of times finding the rhythm and then Camila joined, the melody already obvious enough for the rest of the instruments to join along. Beatrice faced her bandmates before her voice combined along as well.

I need love, love to ease my mind

I need to find, find someone to call mine

But mama said you can't hurry love

No you just have to wait

She said love don't come easy

It's a game of give and take

Camila pushed her microphone to Ava, gesturing with scrunched up nose and lips. Beatrice kept the song going, also pointing at the microphone for Ava to join. And when she eventually did, the whole song transformed the stage as the band jammed along together. It was their tradition for a reason, it brought them back to what they loved about music. Music to them was timeless and a joy they all shared together. In a space like this it held them together and she was happy to share in the moment with Ava as well.

No love, love don't come easy

But I keep on waiting, anticipating for that

Soft voice to talk to me at night

For some tender arms to hold me tight

An energy took over the arena as they played, background dancers sitting along the stage stood and danced, unable to avoid the song's infectious harmony. Ava smiled in her direction and Beatrice’s heart no longer beat to the rhythm of the song, but to something else entirely.

When mama said

You can't hurry love

No, you just have to wait

She said trust, give it time

No matter how long it takes

You can't hurry love

No, you just have to wait

She said love don't come easy

It's a game of give and take

It was late. Beatrice doesn’t know what time exactly. They had been going over the routines, blocking, and outfit changes for hours at this point. JC was on the main stage doing his solo, which was also the ending number and she had lost track of Ava. Beatrice was sitting by a far wall with a really lovely and attractive background dancer who had taken the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

She was nodding along with the other woman, keeping the conversation amicable and flowing, but she was tired. She was sure there had been some flirty lines, but they had barely even cycled through her weary mind.

Ava suddenly sat beside her, something she only noticed because there was small huff while she did it. She took a swig of her water bottle and then passed her hand across her lips wiping them, she had the tiniest frown on her face as she looked between Beatrice and the dancer.

Before Beatrice even thought of opening her mouth to greet her, Ava swatted her right leg, and by pure instinct her body worked out what Ava wanted. She placed her leg down and Ava lowered herself onto her thigh, wiggling a couple of times to find the best angle for her head.

Ava didn’t say anything at all, she just popped in her earphones and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, the dancer was called away for another round of rehearsals and Beatrice just sat and watched Ava as her chest moved up and down, her breathing was even but she wasn’t asleep. Her arms rested comfortably on her tummy and that’s when Beatrice spotted it, the hair tie she had given her all those months back, and she knew it was hers because she was currently wearing the other pair. On Ava’s wrist was her missing jade flower hair tie.

Several thoughts went through her head. One, the practical, sensible part of her concluded that it was just a hair tie and its use was currently to keep Ava’s hair off her face while they practiced. Two, the side of her that knew better and that always strategised immediately caught onto the fact that she had not seen Ava use the hair tie at all. And third, the hopeful side of her was willing it to mean more than just being a simple object with a singular purpose.

Her hand reached for it, she couldn’t help herself. She twirled the small flower in her fingers, her thoughts probably accelerating past several countries' speed limits. It took a moment, but Ava’s breathing changed and then her other hand passed along Beatrice’s wrist reaching for something and when she found it, Ava gave her amber flower tie a twist of her own.

The silence stretched for a few seconds and Beatrice could feel with the tips of her fingers Ava’s pulse quicken.

What the fuck?

–

Tuna. The meal prepared for them was tuna sandwiches. It was dress rehearsals and they were once again having tuna sandwiches. This was the Grammys! Beatrice looked from the offensive meal back to her bandmates, they were all happily eating it, but of course they didn’t have to suffer five days of it.

“Tuna, tuna, tuna," Ava materialised by her side, also giving the tuna sandwiches a grimace. She continued the tune, “Tuna, tuna, tuna.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” She joined, adding a separate tune on top, “No, no, no more tuna, no, no, no more tuna.”

“I don’t want tuna no more.”

“No, no, no more tuna.”

“I don’t want tuna no more"

“No, no, no more tuna.”

“No more!”

The fit of laughter and giggles that overtook them was enough to get everyone’s attention from the backstage area. Ava’s hand came to her mouth shutting in the cackle that escaped when Beatrice realised just how loud they had been. Camila raised one eyebrow in their direction, eventually waving them towards the other band members.

Everything so far has been going according to plan. Ava had somehow perfected her thirty second outfit change from a neon green halter top and waist hugging pants to a beautifully brooding black lace dress with a high cinched waist and flowing floor length bell sleeves. They were all hitting their cues, the band was flawlessly executing every song, and Beatrice had not eaten the moving stage yet, which was going to prove to be painfully difficult during one of their numbers.

–

The morning of the Grammys Beatrice is stressed, but not because in just a few hours she’ll be performing live to millions of people, no, but because she is currently in an endless queue to get Hadestown tickets for Ava. She had set her phone’s alarm to wake her exactly twenty minutes before tickets went on sale and that was at 4 AM in the morning. It is now 7 AM.

Camila had made several angry noises from the bed next to her throughout the early morning, which was understandable given that she all but blasted her with an alarm and scrambled out of bed several times to grab her card details, eat a protein bar and grab her glasses, all in that order and all on separate occasions.

How in the world could there possibly still be 16,000 people in the queue? She wasn’t even sure that many people combined liked musical theater. And she wasn’t a quitter, never has been, but the lack of restful sleep was going to bite her in the ass later, she was sure.

Beatrice sighed loudly, pulling the bed sheets off and thudding all the way to their room door.

“What now!” Camila all but growled as she left the room.

It took too many knocks for Yasmine to finally open the door to her room. She rubbed her eyes, barely registering the person in front of her. “I thought we were getting up at eight.”

“Did you get Hadestown tickets?” Beatrice held the phone close to Yasmine’s face who blinked a couple of times adjusting to the brightness. “They were meant to go on sale hours ago and I’ve been sitting in the queue and nothing has changed.” Beatrice wasn’t frantic often, but when she was she knew everyone avoided her at all costs. Yasmine unfortunately had nowhere to run.

“Who is it?” Mary’s voice came from within the room.

“It’s Beatrice, she's asking about musical theater tickets.”

“Beatrice doesn’t like musicals.”

“YES! Yes, I do. Absolutely love them.” She knew she was giving crazy. “With their whimsical dancing and emotional power vocal ME songs!” She pushed the phone to Yasmine’s face again, “Now, Yasmine please tell me how I can get my hands on a bloody ticket.”

“I left a bot running on my phone overnight, I haven't checked yet.” Yasmine procured the device from her pajama pants. “Yes, it seems it was able to pick up a few tickets. I usually like to go to several performan–”

“How much do you want for two of them?”

Yasmine smiled.

Beatrice was scared.

#avatrice #warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #Liturgia

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