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mrs-delaney · 13 days ago

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Hide | Vegas Rules | Chapter Eight. One

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC) Word Count: 16.3k Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, intimate moments, jealousy, bathroom encounters, and the complicated feelings that emerge when privacy meets passion

A Few Quick Notes:

📝 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it's been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing. 🔔 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me! 💌 Requests: Open

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! It didn't feel quite right and I was making last-minute edits right up until now. This one's going to be split into two parts due to Tumblr's word count limits.

There's something profoundly revealing about watching someone navigate distance and desire. This chapter explores what happens when the bubble of Cincinnati bursts—when color-coded calendars collide with 3AM studio sessions, when shared intimacy must stretch across time zones, when private moments face the prospect of public scrutiny.

For Joe, it's about confronting the boundaries he's always maintained—both literally and figuratively—between his carefully compartmentalized worlds. His phone becomes both bridge and barrier, bringing Riley's voice into his ordered space while highlighting the miles between them. The jealousy that flares in Vegas reveals a possessiveness he didn't know he harbored, forcing him to question why keeping her separate matters so much.

For Riley, it's discovering the vulnerable edges beneath Joe's controlled exterior. It's recognizing the fear behind his hesitation—not that he doesn't want her enough, but that he might want her too much. It's understanding that his reluctance isn't about hiding her, but about protecting something still fragile and unnamed between them.

I wanted to capture that essential tension between connection and distance—how proximity intensifies while separation clarifies. Their different approaches to privacy aren't just practical disagreements; they're fundamental expressions of how they move through the world. His instinct to shield versus her desire to live authentically becomes the first real test of whether love alone is enough to bridge their differences.

As they circle each other in Vegas, we glimpse both the power and fragility of what they're building. The physical connection remains undeniable, but underneath lies a deeper question neither is ready to face: can two people who love in such fundamentally different ways find lasting harmony, or are some differences too essential to overcome? Sometimes the very qualities that draw us together most powerfully are the same ones that may eventually pull us apart.

Their promise to truly talk "after the fight" feels both hopeful and weighty with unspoken fears. It's the beginning of a journey that will test them both—asking whether passionate connection can withstand the practical challenges of merging two vastly different lives, or if even the deepest love sometimes requires more compromise than a heart can give.

Thank you all for your incredible comments on the last chapter! Each one fills my creative well in ways you can't imagine. Your insights and reactions keep me going through every writing session.

I can't wait to hear what you think of this one! 🎲🥃💋

I hear you all about the Sydney Sweeney face claim for Riley! I've put up a poll asking for your input on this, so please weigh in if you have thoughts about it.

Poll Link

Asks are open, let's talk about this one.

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

Joe stood in his kitchen, coffee in hand, staring at the empty space where Riley's mug had been just days ago. The turntable in the corner stood silent—no music filling the house that had briefly felt alive. He ran a finger along the counter's edge, the cool granite a stark reminder of the order that had returned to his life. The silence didn't used to bother him. Now, it pressed in, hollow and sharp, like something had been carved out of his routine.

He took a sip of his coffee—black, no sugar, back to his routine—and tried to shake the odd feeling that had settled over his house since Riley had left. The place looked exactly as it always had. Riley had taken most of her things when she left.

Most, but not all.

On the counter sat a silver alligator ring that she must have forgotten. He'd found it that morning after her flight left, tucked against the bathroom sink where she'd probably taken it off before showering. He picked it up now, turning it over in his fingers—the detailed scales catching the morning light, the small reptile curved into a perfect circle. It was uniquely Riley—a little wild, unconventional, with personality.

He opened their message thread, scrolling back to the photos she’d sent the night before. In one, she was in the studio, headphones around her neck, eyes tired but bright with creative energy, giving the camera a peace sign and sticking out her tongue. His old LSU bracelet was still on her wrist, the faded purple and gold standing out against her skin.

Riley: 3am and still going. Pete keeps threatening to quit but I know he loves it. Send caffeine. And maybe sleep. Miss your stupid face and clean countertops.

Joe hesitated, then typed simply-

Joe: Miss you too.

The words felt foreign on his screen—honest but still new enough to make his pulse quicken. His thumb hovered before swiping to his color-coded calendar, the switch from her chaotic warmth to his structured routine jarring.

Color-coded blocks filled his screen: training in green, media in blue, and sponsor obligations in yellow. The system had guided him through college and into the NFL, ensuring nothing fell through the cracks.

But now there was Riley—vibrant, unpredictable Riley—who didn't fit neatly into any color-coded box.

He tapped back into their text thread, scrolling past more photos. In one, she was hunched over a notebook, unaware of the camera, all focus and motion. Nothing like the curated images he’d grown used to from other women.

His thumb hovered over the phone icon, then retreated. It was still early in L.A.—she’d probably just crashed. Her world moved to the rhythm of inspiration, not structure.

Back to the calendar. The order of it usually gave him comfort. Today, it felt more like a cage. He wondered what her day had looked like—messy, spontaneous, creative. All the things that had drawn him to her in the first place.

His life had always been compartmentalized—football, personal, public. Riley didn’t fit into any box. She bled through them, chaotic and thrilling. The one thing he didn’t want to compartmentalize—and the one thing he kept trying to.

Across the country, Riley was living in another rhythm entirely. No longer the same house, the same routines, the same air. What had felt intimate in Cincinnati now felt fragile over miles of distance. He was good at managing space—games, press, fans. But not with her.

She was the one thing he didn’t want to compartmentalize—and the one thing he kept trying to.

* * *

Joe was at Black Sheep Performance, muscles still burning from the workout, when he spotted Mark waiting by the equipment racks, phone in hand and a familiar set to his jaw.

"We need to talk," Mark said as Joe toweled off, not bothering with pleasantries.

"About?" Joe asked, though he already had a good idea.

"Body Armor wants to increase your involvement in the campaign," Mark said, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the locker room. "They're pushing for more social media content, additional appearances."

Joe gave him a sidelong glance. "And?"

"And I'm just making sure your head is in the game," Mark replied carefully. "Last time we discussed Riley Carter, you told me to drop it. But now you're rearranging training with Dak to accommodate trips to New Orleans, private flights to Cincinnati..."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" Joe asked his voice level despite the growing tension in his shoulders.

Mark sighed. "Look, Joe. Bill and I have the same concerns we did before. Riley has a certain... reputation in the industry. Free-spirited, unpredictable. We're not saying she's not great, but—"

"We've had this conversation," Joe cut him off, stopping at his locker. "My personal life is my business."

"It becomes our business when it affects scheduling, appearances, and partnerships," Mark countered. "You've built your brand on consistency and preparation. That's what these companies are investing in."

Joe started changing, deliberately taking his time. "Have I missed any commitments?"

"No," Mark admitted. "Not yet. But—"

"Then there's no problem," Joe concluded, pulling on a fresh shirt. "Set up the additional content shoots. I'll be there."

Mark looked like he wanted to say more but recognized the set of Joe's jaw. "Fine. Tuesday at 10."

As Mark walked away, Joe checked his phone to find a text from Riley. She'd sent a selfie from Pete's pool house studio, chopsticks poised over a container of sushi, making a dramatic face.

Riley: Studio lunch upgrade courtesy of Scout. Says we need "brain food" for mixing which apparently means fancy tuna rolls. Not complaining.

Despite the lingering tension from Mark's concerns, Joe found himself smiling. He typed back:

Joe: Definite upgrade. Those actually look edible.

He pocketed his phone, finished changing, and headed out to his car. The conversation with Mark wasn't anything new—just a variation on the same theme Bill and he had been pushing since Riley first entered the picture. Joe understood their perspective, professionally. But they weren't seeing what he saw.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Riley was hunched over the mixing console in Pete's pool house studio, headphones on, fingers moving with practiced precision across the board. They'd converted the space years ago when they decided to take control of their recording process, adding professional-grade soundproofing, equipment racks, and a collection of instruments that rivaled many commercial studios.

"Try pulling back the reverb on the bridge vocals," she instructed, making minute adjustments to the EQ. "I want that section drier, more intimate."

Pete nodded, making the change while Andy and Daniel listened intently, all of them focused on the detailed work of fine-tuning their sound. When Riley spoke in the studio, everyone listened—her ear was uncannily precise, able to pick out frequencies and textures most people missed entirely.

After running through the section again, Riley nodded, satisfied. "That's it. Now it breathes better." She slipped off her headphones and stretched, rolling her neck to release the tension that came from hours of focused work.

"I still think my guitar solo needs more bite," Andy said, arms crossed over his chest.

"It's perfect where it is," Riley countered. "Any more, and it would overshadow the vocal line, which is the whole point of that section."

Andy opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, recognizing that particular tone in Riley's voice. When it came to production decisions, she had an uncanny instinct that had guided their sound from the beginning.

Riley checked her phone, a small smile playing on her lips when she saw a text from Joe.

"Earth to Riley," Pete said, nudging her shoulder. "We're not done yet. Still have to decide on the final arrangement for the outro."

"I'm here," Riley replied, tucking her phone away. "Let's add those backing vocals we talked about—layer them three deep, panned wide."

As they dove back into the work, Andy kept shooting her knowing looks. Finally, during a break, while Daniel stepped outside to take a call, he couldn't contain himself any longer.

"So, how's the long-distance thing going with Quarterback Ken?" he asked, sprawling dramatically across the couch.

Riley rolled her eyes at the nickname. "It's going fine."

"Even with your vampire studio hours and his crack-of-dawn training schedule?" Pete asked, genuinely curious.

"We make it work," Riley said simply. "He stays up late, I set alarms for ungodly hours. Sometimes we just leave voice memos."

Pete studied her for a moment. "You really like this guy, huh?"

Riley bit her lip, fighting a smile that threatened to give too much away. "Yeah. I do."

"Careful, Riles," Andy warned, though his tone was more teasing than genuinely concerned. "Next thing you know, you'll be trading in your leather jacket for a Bengals jersey."

Riley flipped him off casually. "Says the guy who wore a KISS costume for three straight months when he dated that tribute band guitarist."

"That was different," Andy protested. "Gene Simmons is rock royalty."

"And Joe Burrow is football royalty," Pete conceded with a shrug. "Man's got game, can't deny that."

“Still,” Andy said, “we’re kind of a lot, don’t you think? Loud, messy, overly attached to vintage gear and each other. Not exactly easy to drop into.”

"He handled me in Cincinnati just fine," Riley said, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. "Better than fine, actually."

“So he survived your ‘leave it where it lands’ home aesthetic?” Andy teased, clearly fishing for details.

"Actually, my chaos seemed to be exactly what his place needed," Riley replied with a smirk. "And no complaints whatsoever."

"So he actually color-codes his schedule?" Pete asked, twirling a drumstick between his fingers as they took a break from recording.

Riley laughed, opening her phone to the shared calendar they’d synced. “Green for training, blue for media, yellow for sponsors. It’s like the world’s most organized rainbow.”

"And I thought you were bad with your Google calendar reminders," Andy teased Pete before turning back to Riley. "So what's your color in his perfect system?"

The question caught Riley off guard. "I... don't know. We haven't gotten there yet."

"Probably pink with little hearts," Andy suggested with a smirk.

"Or maybe she doesn't get a color," Daniel observed quietly from behind his coffee mug. "Maybe she's the thing that doesn't fit in the system."

The observation hung in the air, uncomfortably perceptive.

"Hmm," Andy mused, clearly not convinced. "Well, when you drag him to a last-minute 3 AM inspiration session, let me know how that goes."

Meanwhile, across the country, Joe sat in the locker room, half-listening as his teammates discussed weekend plans.

* * *

"Yo, Burrow, you've been glued to that phone all week," Trey called out. "What's got you so distracted?"

Joe pocketed his phone where Riley's latest text waited for a reply. "Nothing. Just checking the time."

"Right," Ja'Marr said with a knowing look. "That's why you've been smiling at 'nothing' for the past five minutes."

"Leave it, dude," Joe replied, his tone friendly but final.

Later, when Ja'Marr caught him alone, his friend's expression turned serious. "You know, it's okay to admit you're into someone. Won't kill your focus."

Joe adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder. "It's complicated."

"Always is," Ja'Marr replied. "But maybe it's worth mentioning to the guys if she's important enough to have you checking your phone every five minutes."

Joe considered this. There was safety in privacy, in keeping Riley separate from his football world. But as the distance between Cincinnati and LA stretched between them, that separation was beginning to feel less like protection and more like denial.

He stared at the shared calendar on his screen, then back at the last photo Riley had sent. Her chaos didn’t clutter his life—it cracked it open.

Before he could overthink it, his thumb was already pressing her name.

* * *

Riley was about to fire back when her phone buzzed with a call. Joe's name lit up the screen.

"I need to take this," she said, already heading for the pool house door. "And we're done with this conversation."

"Tell the quarterback I said his spiral is tight!" Andy called after her, making crude gestures until Pete smacked him upside the head.

Outside by the pool, Riley leaned against a deck chair, phone pressed to her ear. "Hey you," she answered, her voice softening instantly.

"Hey," Joe replied, the familiar warmth in his voice making distance feel less significant. "Bad time?"

"Perfect time, actually," Riley said, glancing back at the pool house. "You just rescued me from the peanut gallery in there."

"Giving you a hard time about us?" Joe guessed.

"Andy's just being Andy," Riley said with a sigh. "What about you? How's the training going?"

"Good," Joe replied. "Making progress on the mobility drills Dak added."

Riley sensed something in his tone. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Joe said after a brief pause. "Just the usual stuff. Mark asking questions about scheduling."

Riley frowned slightly. "Because of me?"

"No," Joe said quickly—too quickly. "Just regular season prep things."

Riley knew better but didn't press. "When are you done with training today?"

"Just finished," Joe replied. "Heading home now. You guys making progress on the album?"

"Absolutely," Riley said, letting him change the subject. "Just nailed down the bridge section after hours of tweaking. Now we're just finessing the outro."

"Sounds technical," Joe observed.

“It’s all in the details,” Riley agreed. “When we’re done today, want to FaceTime? I’ll catch you before bedtime—reasonable Joe Burrow evening hour.”

"I'd like that," Joe said, and Riley could hear the smile in his voice.

"It's a date," she said. “Now I should get back before Andy starts claiming his solo is ‘spiritually essential’ again.”

After they hung up, Riley stood by the pool a moment longer, turning her phone over in her hands. Despite Joe's deflection, she'd picked up on the undertone in his voice. His team had concerns about her—that much was obvious, even if he wasn't saying it directly. And despite her casual brush-off of Andy's teasing, his words had touched a nerve. She and Joe did come from different worlds, with different rhythms and different expectations.

Riley twisted the LSU bracelet on her wrist, the familiar weight of it grounding her. She wasn't going to let other people's doubts creep into what was still so new, so fragile.

With renewed determination, she pushed off the deck chair and headed back into the studio, ready to finish the track and get to her FaceTime date with Joe.

* * *

Later that night, Joe settled on his couch, laptop balanced on his knees as he reviewed game film from last season. The analyst in him couldn't help but dissect each play, mentally cataloging what he'd do differently next time. It was his nightly ritual—part of the discipline that had carried him to the highest level of the sport.

His phone chimed with a text from Riley.

Riley: Finally escaped the studio prison. Andy and Daniel nearly came to blows over a drum fill. Just need to shower off the day before our FaceTime. 30 min?

Joe responded immediately.

Joe: I'll be here.

He tidied the already clean living room out of habit. She couldn’t see it through the phone. Didn’t matter. Some routines were hard to break.

Her face filled the screen—damp hair, old band shirt, no makeup. Freckles he’d noticed the first night and kept coming back to, like a habit he hadn’t meant to form.

"Hey, babes," she said, her smile tired but genuine.

"Hey," Joe replied, something in his chest loosening at the sight of her. "You look exhausted."

"Thanks. Always know how to charm a girl." Riley repositioned herself, curling into what appeared to be the corner of her couch, a colorful throw pillow tucked behind her. "Three days straight in the studio will do that to you."

"The album's coming along, though?"

"Yeah. It's close. We're in that maddening phase where everything's ninety percent done, which means we fight over the tiniest details." She brushed the damp hair from her face. "How was your day? Besides the Mark interrogation."

Joe hesitated. "It wasn't an interrogation. Just the usual."

“Which means he’s worried about me distracting you.”

She watched him for a beat—how his eyes shifted, the way he didn’t quite meet hers. “Did I get it right?”

Joe shrugged one shoulder. "He's doing his job. Making sure I stay focused."

Riley studied him through the screen, her expression unreadable for a moment. "And are you? Focused?"

"Always," Joe said simply. Then his expression softened. "Except when you send photos of yourself eating sushi."

That earned a genuine laugh, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "The great Joe Burrow, distracted by raw fish. Headline news."

"Not the fish," Joe corrected, his voice dropping slightly. "Definitely not the fish."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that didn't need to be filled immediately. Joe watched as Riley reached for something off-screen, then returned with a mug that she cradled between her hands.

"So," she said after taking a sip, "your place still standing without me wreaking havoc on your countertops?"

"It's too quiet," Joe admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "Keeps feeling like something's missing."

Riley’s expression softened. “Yeah. I know what you mean. My place was the same—messy, loud, alive—but it felt off. Like the room shifted while I was gone.”

Joe nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. They'd only spent a few days together in Cincinnati, yet her absence had left a noticeable void. It wasn't logical—they barely knew each other in the grand scheme of things—but it was undeniable.

"I found your ring," he said, remembering the silver alligator. "By the sink."

Riley's hand flew to her wrist as if just noticing its absence. "My alligator? I've been turning the house upside down, looking for it."

"I'll send it back."

"Or you could just hold onto it," Riley suggested, tucking her legs beneath her. "Give me a reason to come back."

"You need a reason?" Joe raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"No," Riley admitted, her voice softening as she met his eyes. "But I like knowing a piece of me stays with you when I go." She brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. "Something to remind you I'm coming back."

"I don't need a reminder," Joe said quietly, turning his hand to catch her fingers with his. "But I'll keep it safe until you do."

Their conversation drifted easily between topics—Riley's progress on the album, Joe's upcoming schedule, and casual observations about their days apart. Time slipped away as they fell into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural, given the screens between them.

"So," Riley said eventually, stifling a yawn, "any travel coming up for you? I assume you're pretty tied to Cincinnati through training."

"Actually," Joe replied, "I might be heading to Vegas in a couple weeks. UFC fight. Nothing official, just something Ja'Marr's been wanting to do."

"Vegas, huh?" Riley said, her voice carefully neutral. They were on FaceTime, Joe propped up on his kitchen counter while she sat cross-legged on her studio couch.

"Yeah, Ja'Marr's been wanting to see this fight for months," Joe explained. "Henderson versus Chandler. Should be good."

Riley's expression brightened. "Wait, that fight? Pete and Andy have been talking about it non-stop. They're going too."

The coincidence hung between them for a moment. Joe should be pleased—it was a perfect opportunity to see each other, a natural intersection of their separate worlds.

Instead, he felt a cold knot forming in his stomach. Vegas was a fishbowl, especially during fight weekends. Cameras are everywhere, and social media is ready to pounce on any hint of a story. The carefully maintained distance between his public and private selves would be impossible to protect.

"That's... quite a coincidence," he managed, his tone not quite matching the words.

Riley studied him through the screen, her expression shifting as she read something in his face. "It is. Might be fun if we all ended up there the same weekend."

The tentative suggestion hung in the air. Joe knew what she was asking without her having to say it directly. Could they see each other? Spend time together? Acknowledge whatever was growing between them in a space that wasn't carefully controlled by phone calls and private visits?

"It would be pretty chaotic," Joe said finally. "Fight weekends in Vegas are intense. Not much privacy."

Riley's eyes never left his face. "And that would be a problem?"

It was a simple question, but they both knew it carried weight far beyond Vegas plans. This was about what they were to each other—and whether Joe was ready to let the controlled, private bubble they'd created expand into the messy reality of public life.

"Not a problem exactly," Joe hedged. "Just complicated."

"Right," Riley said, her voice cooling slightly. "Complicated."

Joe didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, not hostile, just… stuck.

They kept talking—about timing, about travel, about how easy it was when they were in the same room. And how nothing felt simple anymore.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation stopped being careful.

"I don't understand why it has to be all or nothing with you," Joe said, frustration evident in his voice despite the poor connection. They'd been talking for nearly an hour, circling around the Vegas issue without resolving anything.

Riley sighed on the other end of the phone. "That's not what I'm saying, Joe. I'm not asking for some grand public declaration. I'm just questioning why we need to pretend we don't know each other if we're in the same place."

"I'm not suggesting we pretend anything," Joe countered. "I just think there's value in keeping some things private."

"There's a difference between private and secret," Riley said after a pause. "Private is not posting every detail on Instagram. Secret is acting like we're strangers in public."

The distinction hit Joe harder than he expected. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Keeping you a secret?"

"I don't know," Riley admitted, her voice softening. "Sometimes it feels that way. Like you're fine with me existing in this careful bubble you've created, but you're not sure you want me in your real life."

"That's not fair," Joe protested, even as an uncomfortable truth nagged at him. "My life is complicated, Riley. Everything I do gets scrutinized, analyzed, turned into some narrative I can't control."

"You think mine isn't?" Riley challenged. "I've lived through public dissection, Joe. Remember the Ethan situation? Every detail of our breakup splashed across music blogs, his side of the story accepted as gospel because he got there first with his PR team?"

Joe hadn't considered that angle—that Riley's desire for authenticity wasn't naivety but hard-won wisdom.

"The difference is how we handled it," Riley continued when Joe remained silent. "You build walls. I learned to live honestly despite the scrutiny."

"And you never worry about what people might say? What they might assume?" Joe asked.

"Of course I do," Riley said. "But I refuse to let that fear dictate how I live my life. The minute you start hiding parts of yourself because you're afraid of what people might say—that's when they win."

“I’ve spent years keeping my personal life separate,” he said. “Blurring those lines isn’t easy for me.”

"I know," Riley said, her voice gentler now. "I'm not asking you to change overnight. I'm just asking you to consider that maybe all that careful separation isn't protecting you—maybe it's just keeping you isolated from the parts of life that matter most."

The slight withdrawal was subtle but unmistakable. She was giving him space—exactly what he thought he wanted—yet somehow, it felt like losing something precious. The conversation shifted to safer topics, but something had changed. A quiet politeness had crept in where the rhythm used to be. By the time they said goodnight, the connection felt thinner, like something unspoken had settled between them.

After they hung up, Joe sat staring at his dark phone screen, replaying the conversation. He hadn't handled that well. Maybe he should have just invited her to join them. But the thought of Riley in Vegas, cameras everywhere, speculation about their relationship splashed across sports blogs and gossip sites—it twisted something in his stomach.

It wasn't that he was hiding her. Not exactly. He just needed... control. Time to figure out what this was between them before the whole world weighed in with opinions.

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the day's stubble against his palm. Why did it have to be so complicated? Football made sense. Clear objectives, defined strategies, measurable outcomes. This—whatever was growing between him and Riley—operated by different rules entirely.

* * *

Three days passed with superficially normal communication between them—texts about their days, brief calls when schedules aligned—but Joe couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Riley was still Riley—quick-witted, warm, engaged—but there was a new carefulness to her interactions, as if she were minding an invisible boundary he'd drawn.

Joe was heading into his regular session with Dak when his phone buzzed with a call from Ja'Marr.

"What's up?" Joe answered, nodding at Dak as he entered the gym.

"Vegas fight," Ja'Marr said without preamble. "You still in? Need to lock in the suite reservation by tomorrow."

Joe hesitated. "Yeah, I'm in. But listen, there's something I wanted to run by you."

"Shoot."

"Riley might be there the same weekend. Some guys from her band are going to the fight."

Ja’Marr nodded. “Cool. Been wanting to meet her anyway—hang out a little, see what she’s about.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, then paused. “That’s the thing. Not sure it’s smart—public-wise.”

"“Okay, yeah—you’ve always been careful,” Ja’Marr said, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “But maybe you don’t have to be this time. She ain’t some random girl.”

"It's complicated," he finally said.

"Look, not to overstep," Ja'Marr said carefully, "but if you really like this girl, maybe don't overthink it. Vegas is Vegas. Everyone's too busy doing their own thing to care who's there with who."

Joe considered this. Maybe he was overthinking it. "Let me figure it out," he said finally. "But yeah, keep me on the list for now."

"You got it. Let me know if you want me to add one more."

After hanging up, Joe stared at his phone for a long moment. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he typed out a text to Riley.

Joe: Been thinking about Vegas. If you want to come, we can make it work.

He hit send before he could overthink it, then tucked his phone away and turned his attention to Dak, who was waiting with the day's training plan.

Two hours later, muscles burning from a particularly brutal workout, Joe checked his phone to find Riley's response.

Riley: Already got a flight with Pete and Andy. But I appreciate the thought. Maybe we'll run into each other there.

Joe frowned at the screen. The message was friendly enough, but something about it felt off. Like she was deliberately creating distance. Before he could respond, a second text came through.

Riley: For what it's worth, I get it. Privacy matters. No pressure either way.

Joe stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was exactly what he'd wanted—understanding, no pressure, keeping things private. So why did it feel like he'd somehow screwed up?

He was still trying to formulate a response when Bill appeared at the gym entrance, clipboard in hand and expression grim. Whatever this conversation about Vegas would become, it would have to wait.

“Vegas? The same weekend Riley Carter will be there?” Bill’s voice rose as he paced Joe’s kitchen. “With those bandmates of hers? The ones who trended last month for that club incident in Atlanta?” He stopped, holding up his tablet like it proved something. “Mark mentioned it this morning. Tell me he got it wrong.”

"It's a coincidence," Joe said, his voice level despite the tension building between his shoulders. "A lot of people go to these fights."

But even as he said it, Joe felt the familiar weight of expectation pressing down—the constant awareness that his choices were never just his own, that every move was observed, analyzed, categorized. The weight he'd carried so long he barely noticed it anymore. Until now. Until Riley made him question why he accepted it at all.

"Coincidence or not, it creates a situation," Bill interjected, more measured but equally concerned. "Joe, we've talked about this. The optics—"

"The optics of what? Two adults who happen to be at the same event?" Joe challenged, his patience wearing thin. "We're not in high school, Bill."

Bill stopped pacing to face Joe directly. "Have you seen the latest on her bandmate—the one with the hair? Three clubs in one night last weekend, photographed with models at each one."

"Andy," Joe supplied. "And what does that have to do with Riley?"

"It's the company she keeps," Bill explained, as if talking to a child. "These are people who live their lives completely in the public eye, who court the kind of attention you've always avoided."

"She's not responsible for her bandmate's choices," Joe countered.

"No, but she's part of that world," Bill said. "Look, Joe, no one's saying she's not great. But the Riley Carter who appears in those music videos, who hangs out with people who trend on Twitter for their exploits—that's a very different image from what we've built for you."

Bill nodded, pulling out his tablet and swiping to a saved article. "Remember this? Her ex, Ethan Mills, claimed she 'lived for the party' in that Rolling Stone interview after their breakup."

Joe felt a flash of anger. "An interview where he was clearly trying to damage her reputation after she left him."

"Maybe," Bill conceded. "But perception is reality in this business. We've spent years building you as the focused, disciplined leader. The reliable one. The guy sponsors trust to represent their brands."

"I'm not changing who I am just because I'm seeing someone," Joe said firmly.

"No one's asking you to," Bill said, his tone softening slightly. "We're just asking you to be careful. Vegas is a fishbowl on fight weekends. If you and Riley are seen together, that becomes the story—not your training, not your recovery, not your preparation for next season."

The frustrating part was that they weren't entirely wrong. Joe had witnessed firsthand how quickly narratives could form and calcify in the public consciousness. One weekend, a few photos, and suddenly "Joe Burrow, focused quarterback" could become "Joe Burrow, distracted by rockstar girlfriend."

"I'm still going to Vegas," Joe said, the quiet finality in his tone ending the discussion. What he didn't say—what he was still reconciling himself—was whether he was ready to let Riley fully into that part of his life, or if he would continue trying to keep these worlds separate even when they inevitably collided.

* * *

Riley set her phone down on the countertop with deliberate care, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest. She'd spent three days trying to convince herself that Joe's hesitation about Vegas meant nothing—that his desire for privacy was reasonable, expected even. They were still new. Still figuring things out.

So why did it still sting?

"Everything okay over there?" Laura asked from the couch, where she was editing footage for a documentary project. "You look like someone canceled Christmas."

"Everything's fine," Riley said automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, no. Not really."

Laura closed her laptop, giving Riley her full attention. "Quarterback troubles?"

Riley sighed, joining Laura on the couch. "Is it stupid that I'm bothered by this? We've been seeing each other for what, a month? It's not like we've had the exclusivity talk or anything."

"What happened?" Laura asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Joe's going to be in Vegas the same weekend as Pete and Andy, for that UFC fight they've been obsessing over. When I mentioned the coincidence, he got all weird about us being seen together there." Riley picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "He just sent this very careful text about how 'we can make it work' if I want to come, but it feels...I don't know. Like an obligation."

“And you’re already locked in to fly with the guys?”

Riley nodded. "After our FaceTime call the other night. Andy's been begging me to come for weeks. I figured, why not? It'll be fun."

"So what's the real issue?" Laura asked, studying Riley's face. "That he didn't invite you first?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." Riley pressed her palms against her eyes. "It's more that I feel like he's keeping me in this separate box away from his real life. Like he's not sure I fit."

Laura was quiet for a moment, considering. "Do you remember how private you were after Ethan? How you wouldn't even let us tag you in photos for months?"

"That was different," Riley protested. "Ethan had just—"

"Publicly humiliated you, yes," Laura finished. "And it made you careful. Made you build walls. I'm not saying Joe's situation is the same, but privacy means different things to different people."

Riley absorbed this, twisting her bracelet—Joe's bracelet—around her wrist. "I guess I'm just scared he's embarrassed by me. That I don't fit into his perfect, orderly world."

"Did he say that?"

"No," Riley admitted. "He said it wasn't about me. That it was about control, about keeping things private until we figure it out."

"That sounds...pretty reasonable, actually," Laura observed. "And very different from 'I don't want to be seen with you.'"

Riley sighed, letting her head fall back against the couch. "Why am I making this into a bigger thing than it is?"

“Because you really like him,” Laura said. “And because after Ethan, you promised yourself you’d only do real. Not curated. Not performative.” She gave Riley a look—gentle but clear. “So now, when someone asks for privacy, it feels a little too close to being hidden—even when it’s not.”

Riley nodded, turning Laura's words over in her mind. There was truth there. Privacy was what she'd sought after Ethan, a shelter to heal wounds that had been inflicted in public view. Maybe Joe needed the same thing—space to let whatever was growing between them take root before exposing it to public scrutiny.

"So what are you going to do about Vegas?" Laura asked.

Riley squared her shoulders. "I'm going to go with Pete and Andy. Have fun. And if I run into Joe, great. If not..." She shrugged, affecting more nonchalance than she felt. "Then I'll handle that too."

Laura studied her friend's face. "Just be careful. Don't punish him for Ethan's mistakes."

Riley nodded, the wisdom in those words hitting home. She was determined not to let past hurts cloud what was happening now. Joe wasn't Ethan. She knew that. This relationship—or whatever it was becoming—deserved a clean slate.

Still, as she returned to the kitchen to finish making dinner, Riley couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that Vegas would either bring them closer together or push them further apart. There would be no middle ground.

* * *

It was early April in Cincinnati, and the private training facility carried that in-between feeling—winter barely behind them, the promise of spring still damp in the air. Joe sat on the edge of a turf mat, shoulders tense, sweat cooling on his back as the other guys filtered out. The off-season rhythm was different—quieter, less structured—but somehow, it still didn’t leave much room to think.

“You make up your mind about Vegas yet?” Ja’Marr asked, casual.

Joe didn’t look up. “Not really a choice anymore.”

Ja’Marr turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s going,” Joe said, finally meeting his friend’s eyes. “With her band. Decided after our last call. She was pissed. Rightfully.”

Ja’Marr raised a brow. “You invite her after we talked?”

“I tried. Kinda backpedaled and said if she happened to be there, maybe we could meet up.” Joe scoffed at himself. “She basically blew me off.”

Ja’Marr made a face. “Can you blame her?”

Joe ran a hand over his jaw, tension in every line of his body. “I’m fucking this up.”

“Yeah, a little,” Ja’Marr said bluntly. “Why though? You like her. She likes you. What’s the holdup?”

Joe exhaled hard. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is, but come on—”

“She’s got a past, man. High-profile ex. Party history. Her face has been in more gossip headlines than some of our teammates.” Joe looked away. “She’s loud. Public. I don’t want to live like that.”

Ja’Marr crossed his arms. “So what—you don’t want to be seen with her?”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that once it’s out, it’s out. People have opinions. Narratives. Everyone decides what our relationship is before we do.”

Ja’Marr blinked. “Okay, but what does that have to do with you? You like her. You trust her. That’s what matters.”

“There’s no middle ground with her,” Joe said quietly. “She’s all in or she walks. And I don’t blame her for that, I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to be what she needs in public when I’m still figuring it out in private.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Ja’Marr studied him.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said finally. “She’s not asking you to stand on a stage and announce you’re in love. She just doesn’t want to be treated like a secret.”

Joe looked away again. “Yeah. Well. I already made her feel like one.”

Ja’Marr sighed. “Then go fix it.”

Joe didn’t respond.

Ja’Marr grabbed a towel, slung it over his shoulder, and started walking away. “Or don’t. Just stop acting surprised when it falls apart.”

Joe nodded absently, watching as Ja’Marr walked off toward the recovery room.

He stayed seated for a beat longer, letting the quiet hum of the facility settle around him. Not long. Just enough.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her—but maybe he had. Maybe all his careful control, his need to keep things private and protected, had sent the wrong message. Not that she mattered, but that she didn’t matter enough. That was never true. But if he didn’t figure out how to show her that soon, he was going to lose something that didn’t come around twice.

* * *

The sprawling Las Vegas skyline came into view through the jet window—a gaudy, glittering oasis rising defiantly from the desert floor. Joe watched it approach, the ordered grid of streets somehow containing the world's most deliberate chaos. A city of calculated risk, where every spontaneous moment was carefully engineered. A city of contradictions. Like him, lately.

"We land in ten, Mr. Burrow," the flight attendant informed him as she collected his untouched champagne glass.

Joe nodded, closing his tablet and gazing out the window. The desert landscape stretched endlessly, punctuated by the gaudy oasis of the Strip. Any other time, he might have appreciated the stark contrast. Today, his thoughts were elsewhere—specifically, on whether Riley had already landed.

Beside him, Ja'Marr tucked away his headphones. "Man, I can't wait to hit the blackjack tables. You in?"

"Maybe later," Joe replied, noncommittal. "Want to get settled first."

"Settled," Ja'Marr repeated with a knowing look. "That code for 'check if Riley's here yet'?"

Joe shot him a warning glance but didn't deny it. There was no point—Ja'Marr had become increasingly adept at reading his moods since their conversation in the weight room.

The landing was smooth, and within minutes they were descending the stairs to the private tarmac where a sleek black SUV waited. The Vegas heat hit Joe immediately, a dry wall of warmth after the artificial cool of the plane.

"Aria first, gentlemen?" the driver asked as they slid into the leather seats.

"Yeah," Joe confirmed, already reaching for his phone. He'd had it off during the flight—another routine, another small piece of control in a life full of distractions. Now, he found himself uncharacteristically impatient as it powered on.

Three texts loaded: one from Bill about a sponsorship call, one from his mother checking he'd arrived safely, and one from Riley.

Riley: Landed in Vegas with the guys. Pete already plotting how to lose his money at the craps table. We're staying at the Cosmopolitan. Let me know when you're here.

The message was friendly but careful—none of the warmth or playfulness that had characterized their earlier conversations. Joe stared at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard, aware of Ja'Marr watching him with barely concealed interest.

"Just text her, man," Ja'Marr said, breaking the silence with the directness that had defined their friendship since LSU. "This brooding thing doesn't suit you."

Joe ignored him, though he knew Ja'Marr was right. Since college, he had been the one person who called him on his bullshit, who saw through the composed exterior everyone else accepted at face value.

Joe: Just landed. Heading to the Aria now. Any chance you want to come by? Just to talk.

He pressed send and set the phone down, not because he doubted what he said, but because the silence afterward was loud. The message was deliberate—he needed to talk to her. Still, his heartbeat kicked up as the three dots appeared, disappeared, then flickered back to life.

Riley: Give me two hours. Need to check in and get settled.

Simple. Direct. No emotion. But she was coming. That had to mean something.

* * *

Two hours later, Joe stood at the window of his expansive suite, gazing out at the Strip stretching below. The room was immaculate—king bed, separate sitting area, marble bathroom with a shower big enough for a linebacker. Standard luxury that would normally fade into the background of his consciousness.

Today, he noticed everything. The placement of the chairs. The minibar stocked with premium liquor. The subtle scent of the room—some generic "luxury" fragrance designed to mask the lingering cigarette smoke permeating every surface in Vegas.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Joe took a breath, running a hand through his hair before crossing to answer it.

Riley stood in the hallway, one shoulder leaning casually against the doorframe. She wore an oversized Iron Maiden tee, soft and faded with age, the kind of shirt that had clearly lived a few lives before ending up in her closet. It hung loosely over black leggings, the hem brushing mid-thigh, and her scuffed white sneakers looked like they’d carried her through more than one impulsive night. A fuzzy leopard-print tote hung off one shoulder, absurdly cozy against the rest of her edge. Her hair was pulled into a loose, effortless bun, a few strands falling around her face in the kind of way that looked accidental but perfect. She smelled like vanilla and something warm—maybe sandalwood, maybe just her—and it hit Joe like muscle memory, yanking him straight back to Cincinnati.

"Hey," she said, her voice neutral but her blue eyes sharp, assessing.

"Hey," Joe replied, stepping back to let her in. "Thanks for coming."

“Nice place,” she said quietly, eyes moving across the room. “Kind of cold. But you make it feel less like that.”

There was an edge to her tone that hadn't been there in Cincinnati or New Orleans, a careful distance that felt foreign after the easy intimacy they'd shared.

"How was your flight?" Joe asked, moving toward the minibar. "Water? Or something stronger?"

"Water's fine," Riley replied, setting her bag on a side table. She didn't sit, instead moving to the window to look out at the view. “Flight was good. Andy spent most of it critiquing the liquor selection, but what else is new.”

Joe filled two glasses with water and brought one to her, careful to maintain some space between them as he handed it over. Their fingers brushed briefly in the exchange, and he felt the familiar spark of connection despite the tension hanging in the air.

"So," Riley said after taking a sip, her eyes meeting his over the rim of the glass, "Vegas."

"Vegas," Joe agreed, unsure how to navigate this new, careful version of them. He set his untouched water down on a nearby table. "This feels weird."

Riley's lips curved in a small, sad smile. "What does?"

"This," Joe gestured between them. "Us being so... formal with each other. It's not us."

"And what is 'us', exactly?" Riley asked, setting her glass down with deliberate care. "Because I've been trying to figure that out for a week, and I'm still coming up empty."

The directness of the question was pure Riley, cutting through his careful defenses with unsettling accuracy. Joe ran a hand through his hair, buying time.

"I didn't handle the Vegas thing well," he admitted finally. "When you mentioned being here the same weekend. I was focusing on all the ways it could go wrong instead of just... being glad to see you."

Riley's expression softened slightly. "And how do you feel now? About me being here?"

"Glad," Joe said without hesitation. "Relieved, actually. The distance this past week—the texts that felt like we were strangers, the phone calls where we both pretended everything was fine—I hated it."

"Me too," Riley admitted, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "But it wasn't just about Vegas, Joe. It was about what it revealed."

Joe knew she was right, but hearing it spoken aloud made his chest tighten. "Which was?"

"That you want me in your life, but only on your terms. In controlled environments where you don't have to worry about what anyone else might think or say." Riley's voice was even, not accusatory but matter-of-fact. "And I'm not sure I can be that for you—this separate, hidden piece of your life that doesn't touch anything else."

Joe took a step toward her, unable to maintain the physical distance between them any longer. "That's not what I want."

"Then what do you want?" Riley challenged, her blue eyes intense. "Because I've been trying to figure it out, and I still don't know."

The question hung between them, deceptively simple yet impossibly complex. Joe looked at her—really looked at her—and felt the familiar constriction in his chest. She'd somehow worked her way into parts of his life he'd always kept carefully separate, and that terrified him as much as it exhilarated him.

Joe took a step toward her, unable to maintain the physical distance between them any longer. The space between them felt charged, dangerous—like the moment before a blitz, when everything slows down and speeds up simultaneously.

"I want you," he said, the words rough with honesty. "But I don't know how to do this, Riley. How to balance what's happening between us with everything else."

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, like the words needed somewhere to land.

“That’s the thing, Joe, there is no perfect balance. Life is messy. Relationships are messy." She gestured between them. "This is messy. And you can't control it, no matter how hard you try."

Her words hit uncomfortably close to the truth. Control had always been Joe's foundation—in football, in his public image, in his private life. Riley represented a disruption to that control, a beautiful chaos he both craved and feared.

"I know," he admitted quietly. "And that scares me."

Riley took a step closer, close enough that he could see the flecks of darker blue in her irises. “It scares me too. After Ethan, I swore I wouldn’t let anyone close enough to hurt me again.” She glanced down for a second, her voice quieter now. “But then you happened.”

Joe reached for her hand, relieved when she didn't pull away. "I don't want to hurt you," he said. "That's the last thing I want."

"I know," Riley said, her fingers finally curling around his. "But you might. And I might hurt you too. That's the risk."

Joe nodded slowly, understanding what she wasn't saying. There were no guarantees, no perfect game plans for this. Just two people trying to navigate something neither had expected.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "We're both here in Vegas. Do we just... figure it out as we go?"

Riley studied him, something unreadable in her expression. "Maybe. But I need to know that you're actually trying, Joe. That you're not just going to pretend you don't know me if we run into each other at the fight tomorrow."

"I would never do that," Joe said firmly.

"Wouldn't you?" Riley challenged, though her tone held more sadness than anger. "Because it feels like that's exactly what you've been doing—keeping me separate, compartmentalized, away from your real life."

Joe wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the truth in her words stopped him. Instead, he tightened his grip on her hand, drawing her slightly closer. "I'm trying," he said, offering what he could. "I know that's not enough, but it's the truth."

Riley nodded slowly, a mix of emotions crossing her face. "At least that's honest." She gently extracted her hand from his. "I should go. Pete and Andy are waiting for me. We have dinner plans."

Joe felt a flicker of panic at the thought of her leaving with so much still unresolved between them. "When will I see you again?"

"I don't know," Riley said, retrieving her bag from the side table. "Maybe at the fight tomorrow. Maybe after."

The uncertainty in her voice twisted something in Joe's chest. This wasn't how he'd imagined their conversation would go.

"This isn't what I wanted," he said quietly as she moved toward the door.

Riley turned back to him, her expression softening slightly. "What did you want?"

Joe closed the distance between them, unable to maintain the space any longer. "I wanted to fix this. Whatever's been off between us since that call."

"Some things can't be fixed with one conversation, Joe," Riley said gently. "Some things take time. And maybe more than we've been willing to give."

She reached for the door, but Joe caught her arm, turning her back to face him. The tension between them had shifted, electric in a different way now. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the air heavy with everything still unsaid.

Then Riley made a small sound—something between frustration and surrender—and closed the remaining distance between them. Her hands came up to frame his face, and before Joe could process what was happening, she was kissing him.

Unlike their previous kisses, this one wasn't tentative or sweet. It was hungry, almost desperate, as if Riley was trying to convey through touch what words had failed to express. Joe responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair.

The kiss deepened, months of tension and connection pouring into a single moment that felt both like a reunion and a goodbye. Riley pressed herself against him, her body familiar yet somehow new in the intensity of this embrace.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Riley's eyes were dark, her lips slightly swollen. She took a step back, her hand coming up to touch her mouth briefly.

"Just so you don't forget what you're risking," she said softly, her voice a little unsteady. "While you're trying to figure out what this is."

Before Joe could respond, she was out the door, leaving him alone with the lingering taste of her on his lips and the unsettling awareness that for the first time in his life, he had no playbook for what came next.

* * *

The hostess led Joe, Ja'Marr, and two of their friends through the crowded restaurant at the Cosmopolitan. The place was buzzing with fight weekend energy, exactly the Vegas atmosphere they'd come for.

"This spot is perfect," Ja'Marr said, scanning the crowd. "Good call coming here."

Joe nodded, but his attention had already locked onto a booth across the restaurant. Riley sat there, surrounded by friends, laughing at something the wild-haired guy next to her had said. She wore a simple black dress that left her shoulders bare, her hair swept up elegantly. The sight of her – vibrant, relaxed, in her element – made his chest tighten.

What caught his attention more was how close she sat to the lanky guy with black hair. He had his arm draped casually behind her on the booth, leaning in to speak directly into her ear. The familiarity in their body language was unmistakable.

"Mr. Burrow, your table is right—" The hostess stopped when she realized Joe wasn't listening.

"Joe?" Ja'Marr followed his line of sight. "Oh, your girl's here."

Joe nodded, still watching as Riley playfully shoved the guy away from her, laughing at whatever he'd said.

"Let's go say hi," Joe decided, looking at Ja'Marr and their friends.

"I'm down," Ja'Marr agreed immediately, always ready to be social. "Might as well see what's got you so distracted."

Their other friends, Mike and Derrick, nodded in agreement, curious about the woman who'd caught Joe's attention.

As they made their way across the restaurant toward Riley's table, Joe felt a flutter of nervousness that had nothing to do with approaching strangers and everything to do with seeing Riley after their tense conversation earlier.

"Don't look now, but Joe is heading this way," Pete said under his breath, reaching for his drink.

Riley had already spotted Joe coming toward them with Ja'Marr and two other guys. Despite everything, her pulse quickened. She hadn't expected him to approach them – not after how they'd left things in his suite.

"This should be interesting," Haley murmured, subtly adjusting her position to better observe the approaching quarterback.

"Who's Joe?" Dom asked, arm still casually draped behind Riley on the booth.

"The guy I told you about," Riley answered quickly. "The quarterback."

"Right, the American football one," Dom nodded, though his expression suggested this meant little to him. "The serious bloke."

Before Riley could respond, Joe reached their table with his friends. Up close, the contrast between him and her crew was even sharper—Joe in a crisp t-shirt and black jacket, dark jeans that fit just right. Composed, understated. Dom beside her was all colorful chaos in a patterned suit and platform boots.

"Hey," Joe said, his eyes finding hers before briefly scanning the table.

"Hey yourself," Riley replied, surprised by how naturally her smile came. "Didn't know you'd be here tonight."

“Didn’t know you’d be here either,” he said. “Good timing, I guess.” He gestured to his companions. "This is Ja'Marr, Mike, and Derrick."

Ja'Marr stepped forward with an easy smile, extending his hand to Riley. "Nice to finally meet you. Joe's been completely useless at conversation since we landed in Vegas."

Riley laughed, immediately warming to his straightforward charm. "Glad to know I'm not the only one he's been distracted around."

"I just wanted to come say hi," Joe said, his eyes returning to Riley. "Didn't mean to interrupt your dinner."

"You're not interrupting," Riley assured him. "Joe, these are my friends," she said, gesturing around the table. "Pete and Andy from the band, my friend Haley, and this is Dominic and Colson."

Dom extended his hand, flashing his characteristic wide smile. "Dominic Harrison. Pleasure."

Joe shook his hand with a nod. "Joe Burrow."

"Burrow?" Colson leaned forward with sudden interest. "The Cincinnati quarterback? Man, that Super Bowl game was insane."

Joe nodded, clearly used to being recognized. "That's me."

"Impressive," Colson said, studying Joe with new respect.

Riley noticed Joe's eyes flick briefly to Dom's arm, still draped casually behind her on the booth. She shifted slightly, creating a small but deliberate space between herself and Dom.

"You here for the fight tomorrow?" Pete asked, addressing Joe and his friends.

"Yeah, can't wait," Ja'Marr answered enthusiastically. "Should be epic."

"We'll be there too," Riley said. "Ringside seats."

"No way," Ja'Marr responded with genuine enthusiasm. "We're ringside too. First row."

"Same." Andy added. "Perks of the job, I guess."

"Sounds like we'll be seeing each other tomorrow then," Joe said with a small smile.

The prospect hung between them, tentative but hopeful. Riley found herself nodding. "Looking forward to it."

With a final nod to the group, Joe and his friends returned to their table. Riley felt everyone's eyes on her as she took a long sip of her drink.

"So that's the quarterback," Haley said, a hint of approval in her voice. "He's got that whole strong, silent thing going on."

"His friends seem cool," Pete offered.

"That Ja'Marr guy is definitely cool," Haley agreed. "Very charming."

Dom leaned in, his voice low enough that only Riley could hear. "He didn't much like me having my arm around you."

Riley gave him a warning look. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying," Dom continued with a mischievous grin, "man definitely has feelings for you. The way he looked at me—if looks could kill..."

Riley rolled her eyes, though she'd noticed it too – that flash of something possessive in Joe's eyes when he'd first approached.

"Ancient history, you and me," Dom said, reading her expression. "But he doesn't know that, does he?"

"It's not relevant," Riley said firmly.

Dom raised his hands in surrender, but his grin remained. "Whatever you say, love."

The conversation moved on, but Riley found her attention repeatedly drawn to Joe's table across the restaurant. Once or twice, she caught him looking back at her, their eyes meeting briefly before both looked away.

After their third round of drinks, Riley stood up. "I'm going to the restroom," she announced, needing a moment away from the group's scrutiny and her own conflicted thoughts.

"Want company?" Haley offered.

"I'm good," Riley replied, grabbing her small purse. "Be right back."

As she wound her way through the crowded restaurant, Riley felt a strange mix of emotions. Joe's gesture tonight had surprised her – it was a small step, but an important one. Yet their fundamental issue remained unresolved. The question of whether they could bridge their different worlds, different needs, still hung between them.

She pushed open the door to the restroom, grateful to find it relatively empty. Leaning against the counter, Riley took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. But all she could think about was Joe – the guarded hope in his eyes when he'd mentioned seeing her at the fight, the unmistakable tension when he'd seen her with Dom.

* * *

From his table, Joe watched as Riley disappeared down the hallway to the restrooms, the sway of her hips drawing more than just his attention. The colorful-haired musician—Dom—watched her go with a familiarity that made Joe's jaw clench.

"You gonna sit there staring after her all night?" Ja'Marr's voice cut through his thoughts.

"What? No," Joe replied, turning back to their conversation, though his focus remained elsewhere.

“Man, you know you want to,” Ja’Marr said with a knowing grin. “Just go already.”

Joe hesitated only briefly before standing, surprising himself with the decision. The Joe Burrow the world knew—disciplined, methodical, controlled—didn't follow women to bathrooms in Vegas restaurants. But the Joe Burrow sitting here, watching another man touch Riley with casual intimacy, wasn't feeling particularly disciplined or controlled.

Joe hesitated only briefly before standing up. "I'll be back."

As he walked toward the hallway where Riley had disappeared, Joe wasn't entirely sure what he planned to say. Their earlier conversation in his suite had ended with more questions than answers. But seeing her tonight, surrounded by her friends, so vibrant and alive, had crystalized something for him.

He wasn't ready to let her go. Not without at least trying to figure out what this was between them.

With that thought in mind, Joe rounded the corner into the hallway, determined to find some resolution – or at least a path forward – before the night was over.

Riley stood at the marble sink, letting the cold water run over her wrists, a trick she'd learned years ago to cool down when her mind was racing. The bathroom was mercifully empty—one of those ridiculously opulent Vegas restrooms with plush seating areas and soft lighting.

The door opened behind her. She glanced up at the mirror, expecting another patron, but instead saw Joe's reflection. Their eyes locked in the glass, and something in his expression made her pulse quicken.

Without a word, Joe reached behind him and turned the lock.

"Women's bathroom," Riley said, turning to face him. Not a question, not a protest—just a statement of fact.

"I don't care," Joe replied, his voice low and intent as he crossed the space between them.

There was something different about him—a rawness she'd never seen before, the carefully maintained composure completely gone. Joe Burrow looked like a man who'd made a decision and was done overthinking it.

“Looked like you were real close with that guy." Joe said, stopping just inches from her.

"With Dom?" Riley raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

Joe stopped just in front of her, close but not touching. His voice was low.

“You and him. What’s the deal?”

Riley tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He glanced toward the lounge behind them, jaw tight. “He had his hands on you like it wasn’t the first time.”

She let out a quiet breath. “You jealous?”

“I’m asking.” His eyes didn’t move from hers. “How well does he know you?”

Riley blinked, her mouth tightening just slightly. “Why does it matter?”

Joe’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look away.

“Because I fucked up this week,” he said, the words quieter than she expected. “And you’ve put space between us ever since.” He shook his head, almost like he was tired of himself. “You barely text back. You dodge calls. And now you’re here, looking at someone else like it’s easier.”

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t wait.

“Because I feel like I’m already losing you,” Joe said, low and unguarded. “And I haven’t even had the chance to call you mine.”

The honesty in his voice struck her more powerfully than any practiced words could have. This wasn't careful, controlled Joe. This was something raw and real—jealousy and desire and frustration all mingled together.

Before Riley could respond, Joe closed the final distance between them. One hand curved around the back of her neck while the other gripped her waist, pulling her against him as his mouth found hers. There was nothing careful about this kiss—it was hungry, possessive, demanding.

Riley responded instantly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer. This wasn't the controlled, measured Joe she'd known in Cincinnati. This was something else entirely—raw and unfiltered, all restraint abandoned.

She felt herself being lifted onto the counter, cool marble shocking against her heated skin as Joe's hands gripped her thighs. The contrast between the cold surface and his burning touch made her gasp. Riley wrapped her legs around him, drawing him against her as the kiss deepened. She could taste the faint bitterness of whiskey on his tongue, feel the controlled strength in his hands as they moved beneath her dress—always measured, always deliberate, even now.

Joe’s mouth traveled down her neck, beard scraping lightly against her sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he murmured, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it, vibrating against her collarbone.

Riley tipped her head back, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Then let’s lose it together.”

He laughed against her collarbone, a low rumble she felt more than heard. His hands found the edge of her underwear, fingers hooking around the delicate fabric. "Can I?" he asked, voice rough with desire.

"Yes," Riley breathed, lifting slightly to help him.

Joe knelt, drawing the fabric down her legs with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight of Joe Burrow on his knees before her, looking up with undisguised want, sent heat coursing through her body.

"Fuck, look at you." he said, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh that made her breath catch.

Joe’s lips skimmed the inside of her thigh, warm breath ghosting over her skin as he dragged his mouth higher—soft, open-mouthed kisses that made her tremble. He didn’t rush. Didn’t tease. Just took his time, like he was mapping her. Like he was making sure she’d feel this later, when they weren’t touching anymore.

Riley bit her lip, her hand slipping behind her to grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white against the marble. Her other hand threaded into his hair, tugging gently—half to anchor herself, half to ground him there.

“Joe,” she whispered, not as a plea, but a reminder. That she was here. That this was real. That she wanted him as wrecked as she was.

Her voice made him groan, low and guttural, against the inside of her thigh. She felt it reverberate straight through her core. His grip tightened. Not rough, not yet—but urgent. Like if he didn’t hold her steady, he might lose the thread of himself completely.

And then—he gave in.

Joe pressed his mouth to her with a hunger that didn’t ask for permission. No hesitation. No tease. Just the full weight of everything he’d been holding back—weeks of restraint undone in a single, claiming sweep of his tongue.

Riley gasped, her spine arching off the mirror-backed wall. The cool air met her skin where her dress had bunched around her hips, but all she could feel was him. The heat of his mouth. The grip of his hands. The sharp edge of his stubble scraping in places that made her thighs tremble.

He licked into her like he was angry about it—like he hated that anyone else had touched her, seen her, heard the sounds she was making now. He was careful, yes—but not gentle. There was nothing soft about the way his mouth moved. Nothing patient in the way his tongue circled and pressed and devoured.

“Jesus,” she breathed, one hand flying to his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He made a sound at that—something low and possessive—and doubled down, tongue flicking hard against her clit until she whimpered.

The kind of sound that sounded like surrender. And maybe it was. But not to him—not entirely. She was giving herself to this, to them. And fuck, he felt it.

Joe’s fingers flexed against her thighs, thumbs digging in just enough to mark. She felt him adjust slightly, then suck—hard—and her hips jerked in his hands.

“Joe,” she gasped again, shakier now. “Fuck—please—”

That did something to him. She felt it in the way his tongue dragged lower, slower, thicker—like he wanted to wreck her. Like he needed to be the one who took her apart first, before anyone else could try.

He groaned again—louder this time, almost a curse—burying himself deeper, eating like he was trying to erase whatever version of her had existed before this.

And when she cried out—louder than she meant to, thighs shaking, back bowed—then he looked up at her.

Eyes wild.

Breath ragged.

Mouth wet.

He didn’t say it out loud, but she could feel it in the heat of his stare.

Mine.

“This is so fucked,” he muttered, voice gutted. His forehead dropped to her thigh, eyes squeezed shut, hands still gripping her like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

She looked down at him, eyes glassy. “Then show me how fucked it is.”

“You’re shaking,” he rasped, dark and satisfied.

“Because you won’t fuck me,” she panted, half-laugh, half-plea.

He lifted his head at that. His mouth was swollen, his eyes wrecked—pure heat and hunger and a little bit of madness. His jaw clenched as he took her in.

“Jesus, Bird,” he said, voice hoarse. “I can’t handle you like this.” It slipped out, unguarded. “Not tonight.”

She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging gently but firm—until his gaze snapped back to hers.

“I’m not trying to break you, Joe,” she said softly. “I just want to be close.”

Joe didn’t move at first. Just stared at her—like he was trying to memorize this version of her, flushed and reckless, daring him to lose control.

Then he rose.

Not fast. Not slow. Just with purpose. Like he’d finally given in.

The second he was standing, Riley reached for him—no hesitation, no nerves. Her fingers found the button of his jeans, popping it open with a sharp flick. The zipper followed, slow and deliberate. Then her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around him with shaky, unflinching precision.

The sound Joe made when she touched him was raw—broken open at the seams, like it had been waiting to escape all night.

He kissed her hard, deep, his hands bracketing her thighs like he needed her pulse to anchor him.

And then—

A knock. Sharp. Too real.

“Riley?” Haley’s voice called from outside the door. “You still in there?”

Riley froze, her hand still inside Joe’s jeans, his fingers digging into her thighs. They stared at each other, breath shallow and ragged, the air between them thick with heat and hesitation.

“Yeah,” she called back, remarkably steady, like her heart wasn’t slamming against her ribs. “Just fixing my makeup. Be out in a minute.”

“Dom’s looking for you,” Haley replied. “Getting kind of pushy about it, actually.”

Joe’s expression darkened at the mention of Dom’s name. His grip tightened, possessive and unthinking, like some part of him couldn’t help it. Something flickered in his eyes—jealousy, raw and unfiltered.

“Tell him I’ll be right there,” Riley said, not looking away from Joe.

“You want me to wait?”

“No, I’m good. Go ahead.”

Haley’s footsteps faded. Neither of them moved. Joe stayed pressed against her, pulse hammering under her hands, both of them strung out and teetering.

“Dom’s looking for you,” he repeated, voice low, controlled—but barely.

Riley didn’t flinch. “I’m not with Dom.”

“But you were.” He wasn’t accusing—just stating it. Like it had been living under his skin for too long.

“A long time ago,” she said quietly. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Joe’s jaw ticked. “Didn’t look that way tonight.”

“Well, I’m not the one in here with him, am I?” she said, her voice sharpening just slightly. Her hand flexed where it still held him, and Joe’s breath hitched, involuntary and wrecked. “I’m here with you.”

That seemed to crack something open in him. He kissed her hard—no pretense, no restraint, just full possession. His hands slid under her thighs again, lifting her slightly, pressing in like he couldn’t stand the space between them.

Riley rocked her hips into him, body still trembling from earlier, still open and aching for more. Joe’s hand moved between them, fingers slipping over her, slow and sure, drawing another soft gasp from her lips.

The door was still locked.

But the night had already come undone.

Joe dragged her closer, his grip firm at her waist, every line of his body tense with barely restrained frustration.

“He was touching you like he doesn’t know it’s over,” Joe said low, mouth brushing her skin. “Like I wasn't standing right there.”

“He doesn’t get to touch me,” Riley whispered, nails digging into his back. “Not anymore.”

Joe’s jaw flexed. “But he has.”

Riley nodded once, breathing uneven. “Yeah. He has.”

Joe stilled—just for a beat. “I fucking hate that.”

She tilted her head, met his gaze. “Then make me forget him.”

That did it.

He shoved her dress up with both hands, guiding himself with a roughness that bordered on desperate, but never careless. He pushed into her in one long, devastating stroke, the stretch so sharp and full it knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Christ, Bird," he rasped, forehead pressed to hers, his voice breaking open. "He ever get you like this?"

Riley gasped, hips rolling into him, her body already trembling. "No. Never like this."

Joe growled low in his throat, hips snapping forward again, harder this time. "Say it again."

"Never like this," she moaned, gripping his shoulders, holding onto him like the truth. "No one but you."

His mouth crushed hers, tongue sweeping in with a heat that stole what little breath she had left. He fucked her like it mattered. Like every thrust was a statement. A claim. Like jealousy had burned a hole through his restraint and all that was left was this—raw, unfiltered need.

Riley’s head fell back, hands tangled in his hair as her body clenched around him, already spiraling again. “Joe—fuck—don’t stop.”

“I’m not fucking stopping,” he growled. “Not when you’re saying my name like that.”

Her legs tightened around his hips, dragging him deeper. Their bodies were slick with heat, the rhythm a little brutal now, like he was trying to bury every trace of Dom beneath her skin and replace it with him.

“Say it again,” he gritted.

“Joe,” she sobbed, “It’s only you.”

His hands were everywhere—her waist, her thigh, her jaw. His breath hot at her ear as he ground into her with every ounce of want he’d held back until now.

And somewhere between the bite of jealousy and the softness of her saying his name like that, he unraveled.

Riley clung to him, nails scoring down his back, her cries muffled against his mouth as her orgasm surged through her—sudden, fierce, overwhelming.

She shattered around him, her body trembling with it, breath catching in a sharp, helpless gasp. Joe groaned against her throat, his rhythm faltering as she clenched tight around him.

“Fuck, Riley—” His voice cracked, ragged. “God, I—”

He followed with a broken sound, burying himself deep one last time as he came hard, his whole body tensing, jaw locked, breath ripped out of him.

For a long moment, they didn’t move.

Their foreheads pressed together. Chest to chest. Breathing hard. The bathroom quiet except for the sound of the air conditioning humming faintly through the vents and their harsh, stuttering breaths.

Joe was still inside her, his grip firm but not desperate now—like he didn’t know whether to let go or hold on tighter.

Riley’s body shook against his, still pulsing with aftershocks. Her head dropped to his shoulder, breath warm and uneven against his neck. Joe didn’t move. Couldn’t. His jeans were shoved halfway down his thighs, her dress still bunched up around her waist, their bodies tangled and pressed tight against the bathroom door.

His hands stayed where they were—one gripping her hip, the other braced against the door like he needed it to stay upright.

His forehead pressed to hers, lips brushing her cheek as he caught his breath.

And then, quietly—like it scraped something raw on the way out:

“This doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

Riley’s eyes fluttered open. She didn’t pull back, didn’t move. Just stayed wrapped around him, cheek to his jaw, heartbeat loud in her ears.

“No,” she said, soft. Honest. “But I'm not sorry it happened.”

Joe exhaled, rough. His hands curled a little tighter around her.

“We saw you with him.”

A breath.

“It fucked with me.”

“I wasn’t trying to mess with you.”

She held his gaze. “But I get why it did.”

“I hate that he’s touched you,” he said, voice low, like he hated saying it out loud even more. “And that you let him.” Riley pulled back enough to look at him, flushed and wrecked and wide open.

“It didn’t.”

She held his gaze.

“It didn’t mean what this does.”

That seemed to steady him, just barely. His jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Then he rested his forehead against hers again.

For a beat, neither of them spoke. Her dress still hiked up. His jeans still undone. Breath still shallow, skin still flushed, everything still echoing

Joe didn’t move.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

But for a moment—just one—they stood there, forehead to forehead, hearts still pounding, tangled up in the mess they’d made together.

“I don’t know what to do with this, Riley,” he murmured finally, voice barely above a whisper. “How to be the man I’ve built myself to be… and still be what you need.”

Riley’s fingers curled around the fabric of his t-shirt, soft and rumpled between them.

“Maybe it’s not one or the other,” she said quietly. “Maybe you don’t have to choose. Maybe you just need to be you. The real you.”

Joe let out a rough exhale. “I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

She leaned in, brushed her lips to his cheek—gentle and grounding.

“You’re still you,” she said quietly. “Even like this.”

His eyes closed for a beat, like that idea scared him and settled him all at once.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, really look at her, flushed and messy and still radiant under the flickering bathroom light.

“Tomorrow,” he said, more certain this time. “After the fight. Let’s talk. Really talk.”

Riley nodded once. “Okay.”

They stood there a moment longer, then quietly started to pull themselves back together—straightening clothes, wiping smeared lipstick, running shaking fingers through tangled hair. The heat of what had just happened still clung to the walls, but something else sat underneath now. Not regret. Not exactly clarity either. But maybe a beginning.

Joe reached for the lock.

And just as he twisted it and pulled the door open—

Haley stood there, hand raised, mid-knock, eyes wide like she’d just caught them mid-crime.

Riley blinked.

"Oh," Haley said, her expression shifting from concern to delight. "Well, this explains a lot."

Riley felt her face heat up, but couldn't quite manage to feel embarrassed. "Haley—"

“Don’t even try,” Haley said, grinning. Her eyes flicked to Joe. “We technically met, but now I feel like I've got a better read on you.”

“Hope it’s not a bad one,” Joe said, a small smile pulling at his mouth. There was the faintest hint of color in his cheeks, but he held her gaze.

“Didn’t say it was bad. Just clearer.”

"I should get back," he said to Riley, his hand briefly squeezing hers. "Ja'Marr's probably wondering where I disappeared to."

"Though probably not wondering very hard," Haley muttered, eyes twinkling.

As Joe slipped past them into the hallway, Haley watched him go with undisguised amusement. The moment he was out of earshot, she turned to Riley, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline.

"A bathroom? Really?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of scandal and admiration. "How very rock star of you."

Riley couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut up.”

Haley raised a brow, delight dancing in her eyes. “Please. Like this is the first time you’ve pulled some chaotic shit in a public bathroom. If anything, I’m disappointed it took this long.”

As they made their way back toward the table, the buzz of the restaurant filtering back in, Haley leaned in close. “So, for the record? I think I’m Team Quarterback now.”

Riley didn’t answer right away. Her heart was still thudding in her chest, her lips swollen, her body thrumming with the echoes of everything Joe had made her feel. Want. Fear. Hope. A dangerous, heady cocktail she hadn’t quite figured out how to hold yet.

She exhaled a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-confession. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Haley glanced sideways at her, reading more than Riley had meant to give away, but didn’t push.

“Okay,” she said lightly. “But I’m still ordering us a celebration drink. For, you know—bravery. Or reckless sex. Whichever.”

Riley snorted. “Same thing, really.”

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

Riley slid back into her seat like nothing had happened, smoothing her dress with the grace of someone who had absolutely just had sex in a bathroom and was committed to pretending otherwise.

Haley followed a second later, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she might bleed.

When they got back to the table, Haley plopped down in her seat with exaggerated satisfaction, took one long look at her, and said cheerfully, “Wow. You look incredible. Honestly, great call taking twenty minutes in the bathroom to fix your face. So natural. So radiant. So… freshly rearranged.”

Riley arched a brow, sliding into the empty chair next to her. “You done?”

“Oh, not even close,” Haley whispered, sipping her drink like it was her job.

Pete nodded, eyes narrowing like he was analyzing her under a ring light. “Yeah, real radiant. Freshly flushed. Like you just discovered the perfect highlighter.”

Across the table, Dom blinked. “Wait. That was a makeup fix?”

“You guys are hilarious,” Riley said flatly, reaching for her drink like she hadn’t just committed a felony against public decency.

Dom looked at her. Then at Joe—just settling back into his seat, hair clearly mussed, trying so hard to look normal.

“No,” Dom said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Nooooo.”

Haley sipped her wine like it was piping hot tea. “Say it with me, Dom. Bathroom. Bang.”

Dom let out a dramatic groan, flopping against the back of his chair like he’d just been stabbed. “You left me. To get fucked in a bathroom. With a fuckin’ jock. I feel personally victimised.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Riley said dryly. “I excused myself.”

“To go get railed by the quarterback in the ladies’ room!” Dom cried, scandalized. “Have some respect. At least sneak off to the service hallway like a proper slut.”

Pete raised his glass solemnly. “Honestly, we support you. But also, I’d like to file a formal complaint on behalf of the rest of us who now have to sit here and pretend Joe Burrow didn’t just raw dog our singer in a public restroom.”

Haley grinned into her wine. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

* * *

Joe slid back into his seat like nothing had happened.

Ja’Marr raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Joe reached for his water, nodding once. “Yep.”

A beat of silence.

Mike looked him up and down. “You come back looking like that and expect us not to ask questions?”

Derrick blinked at him. “Your curls are fucked up.”

Ja’Marr didn’t even try to hide the grin. “Bro. Did you just hit a bathroom quickie? Like… you?”

Joe didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Ja’Marr let out a low whistle. “Duuuude.”

Derrick leaned back in his chair, grinning. “In the bathroom, my guy?”

Mike just shook his head, half impressed, half horrified. “That’s not even your style. You good?

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look unbothered. “What do you think?”

That sent Derrick into full wheeze-laugh mode. “I think you’re fucked, is what I think.”

Joe gave them all a look, the kind that was supposed to say drop it—but with his hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, and mouth still red around the edges, it didn’t land the way he wanted it to.

“Man,” Mike said, shaking his head slowly, “I thought we were the bad influences on you.”

“She’s got him moving reckless,” Derrick said, grinning. “Whole vibe changed. That’s rockstar influence, bro.

Ja’Marr pointed his fork at Joe, eyes gleaming. “You’ve known her for what, two months? And you’re already out here throwin’ away your whole brand in a damn bathroom stall?”

Derrick nearly choked on his drink.

Joe shook his head, making no effort to fix his hair or straighten his shirt. "We done talking about this?"

"Oh, we're just getting started," Ja'Marr said, his grin widening. "Joe Burrow throwing caution to the wind? This is historical."

"Man's out here living," Derrick added, raising his glass in mock salute. "One minute he's worried about someone taking his picture, next he's—"

"Next round's on me if we change the subject," Joe cut in, his expression deadpan but eyes betraying a hint of amusement.

Mike leaned back, studying Joe. "Never thought I'd see the day. Miss Riley's got you breaking your own rules."

Joe's phone lit up with a text. He glanced down, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"There she is," Ja'Marr said, nodding toward the message. "What's she saying? 'Thanks for the quickie'?"

Joe pocketed his phone without responding, but the slight flush creeping up his neck told them everything.

"Y'all finished?" Joe asked, picking up his fork and knife to return to his barely-touched steak.

"Not by a long shot," Mike said, "but I'll save the rest for when you've had a few more drinks."

As the conversation reluctantly shifted to tomorrow's fight predictions, Joe found himself glancing across the restaurant, catching Riley's eye just as she returned to her table. She shot him a tiny, secret smile that made his heart slam against his ribs.

Derrick noticed the exchange and shook his head. "Man, you are so far gone."

This time, Joe didn't bother denying it.

* * *

The door clicked shut behind them with a thud, and Riley immediately kicked off her heels, one landing under the credenza and the other bouncing off the edge of the sofa. Haley followed suit, letting out a dramatic sigh as she tugged off her lashes and stuck them to the edge of a lamp.

“Water,” Riley groaned, stumbling toward the minibar. “Where the fuck is the water.”

“There was some in here earlier, I swear,” Haley muttered, yanking open drawers like she was disarming a bomb. “I will drink out of a flower vase if I have to.”

Riley finally pulled out two half-warm bottles and held them up in triumph. “Not cold, but we’ll survive.”

They collapsed onto the bed, chugging like they’d just crossed a desert, legs tangled, dresses wrinkled, adrenaline still humming low beneath the exhaustion.

For a beat, they just sat there, catching their breath in the quiet.

Then Haley glanced sideways, a slow grin spreading. “So… bathroom bang?”

They lay there like that for a minute, chests rising and falling, the city glittering behind the curtains. The quiet wrapped around them like an old song, familiar and warm.

Then Riley exhaled. “You know me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Haley turned her head. “Yeah. I do.”

“I mean—like, I’m not new to… bathrooms and making questionable decisions in semi-public places.”

Riley. You once left Ethan with a hickey and a black eye in the same weekend and called it foreplay.”

Riley cracked a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. And then he left me on read for three days and told Rolling Stone we were ‘exploring different energies.’”

Haley’s expression softened. “This isn’t that.”

“I know,” Riley said quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

“I really like this guy,” Riley said quietly, staring up at the ceiling like the truth might sting less if she didn’t look at anyone. “More than I’ve ever let myself like anyone. Not even Ethan—not like this.”

Haley didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Just let Riley keep going.

“When it’s just us, it’s… different. He’s present. Soft. Like he’s in it with me. Like he wants it just as much as I do.” She exhaled slowly. “But then we step out into the world, or I try to talk about how we actually do this, how we share space between his life and mine—and it’s like he disappears behind some wall. He pulls back. And I don’t know why.”

She paused. The words felt like they were unspooling from somewhere deep.

“I spent so long after Ethan reclaiming everything he chipped away at. My voice. My name. My fucking agency. I told myself I’d never let anyone make me feel small or invisible again.”

Her throat tightened.

“But this is starting to feel like I’m getting jerked around in a different way. With Ethan, everything was public. All the chaos, the performance—it was always for show. With Joe, it’s the opposite. He wants me in private. Quietly. Like he’s afraid to want me out loud.”

She turned her head, finally meeting Haley’s eyes.

“And I don’t know what that means. Or what I’m supposed to do with it.”

Haley didn’t speak right away. She just looked at Riley for a long moment, the kind of look that came from knowing someone too well to bullshit them.

Then she shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. “Okay, first of all? You’re not crazy.”

Riley let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

Haley continued, steady and sure. “What you’re describing? That dissonance—that whiplash between how he is with you alone versus how he is out there? That matters. It’s real. And it doesn’t make you needy or dramatic for noticing it.”

She paused, her voice softening. “I watched Ethan mess with your head in front of a million people. I watched you claw your way out of that, step by fucking step. So yeah, maybe Joe’s not doing the same thing—but it still feels like you’re being asked to live in the shadows. And that’s not nothing.”

Riley’s eyes stung, but she didn’t blink.

“I think he cares about you,” Haley said gently. “Like—really cares about you. But that doesn’t mean he knows how to carry all of it. The public part. The risk. The letting go of the version of himself he’s spent years curating.

She reached out, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Riley’s sweatshirt. “But the thing is, you already know who you are. You’ve done the work. You’re not the girl who bends to fit anymore.”

She tilted her head. “So the question isn’t whether he wants to be seen with you. The question is whether you are willing to disappear again.”

Riley swallowed hard, her throat thick. For a second, she didn’t say anything. Just stared up at the ceiling, eyes glassy, chest rising slow and uneven beneath the hoodie she’d stolen from Joe days ago.

“No,” she said finally. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just certain. “I’m not.”

Haley didn’t press her—just waited.

“I worked too fucking hard to get here,” Riley said, voice gaining shape now, steadier with every word. “To be proud of who I am. To take up space without apologizing. To sing what I want. Wear what I want. Love how I want.”

She paused, pressing her knuckles to her lips like the truth might fall out too fast.

“I want him. God, I do. But I’m not going back to hiding just because it makes someone else more comfortable. I can’t be the secret. I won't be.”

She turned her head toward Haley, eyes still burning. “I want all of it. I want to feel like I can stand next to him and not wonder if I’m too much or too loud or too visible.”

Haley reached over, linking their pinkies without looking. “Then he’s either gonna meet you there… or he’s gonna miss out.”

Riley exhaled slowly, her chest loosening just enough to breathe.

“But,” Haley added, voice softer now, “give him a little time, okay? Not forever. Not enough to make yourself small. Just enough to see if he figures out what’s right in front of him.”

Riley nodded, barely. “Yeah.”

“‘Cause I like this one,” Haley said, tugging their pinkies. “But I like you more.”

Riley smiled at that—wobbly but real. “Thanks, YeaYea.”

“Anytime, slut.”

Riley huffed a laugh and let her eyes drift shut, Haley’s hand still looped through hers. The hotel room was quiet now, the chaos of the night behind them. But the clarity lingered, sharp and necessary.

* * *

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. Joe stepped into his suite, the hush of the hallway replaced by the low hum of the air conditioning and the muffled thump of bass still lingering in his chest. His jacket was already off, shirt untucked, the top two buttons undone. His fingers ran through his hair—restless, aimless—before he dropped the keycard on the table and stood there for a beat too long.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The bathroom mirror caught his reflection—hair mussed, collar wrinkled, lips still faintly swollen from kissing her like he’d never get another chance.

He exhaled through his nose and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He could still taste her. Still feel her under his hands. Still hear her saying “Then make me forget him.”

And that look in her eyes when she said it—like she saw all the cracks he’d tried to hide and wanted him anyway.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Took a long sip from the bottle of water someone had left beside the bed. It didn’t help much.

Everything he’d worked to build—every careful, quiet, calculated piece of his life—felt suddenly unstable. Like it couldn’t hold her. Like it couldn’t hold this.

She made him reckless. But she also made him honest. And that was scarier.

Joe picked up his phone. Opened their thread. Paused.

Then began typing.

Joe stared at his phone. The quiet in the suite was heavy—too heavy. He ran a hand through his hair, opened their thread, and started typing.

Draft 1:

You know I didn’t mean to be like that tonight. I just—

[Backspace. All of it.]

Draft 2:

Sorry if I made things worse.

[Delete.]

Draft 3:

I shouldn’t have lost it like that. Dom isn’t the problem. I am.

[Still wrong. Too clinical.]

Draft 4:

I want you. That’s all I know. I want you and I don’t know how to do this right but I’m trying.

[He stared. Shook his head. Deleted it.]

He tossed the phone down. Paced. Picked it back up.

Deep breath. This time, he didn’t overthink.

Joe (sent): I know I was outta line tonight. I was jealous and I took it out on you. That’s not who I want to be, and you didn’t deserve that. I know the bathroom didn’t fix anything. And I don’t have the right to ask you to be patient with me. But I’m asking anyway. I’ve never felt like this before. Never wanted something like this before. I want to talk tomorrow. Really talk. After the fight. He stared at the screen.

Sent.

Then tossed the phone on the nightstand like it burned.

Riley’s phone buzzed on the comforter between them.

She reached for it instinctively, thumb swiping across the screen. Her brows lifted as she read, and she didn’t say anything at first—just blinked, like she wasn’t expecting to hear from him. Not tonight.

Haley clocked the shift immediately. “What?”

Riley handed her the phone without a word.

Haley read it once. Then again. Her mouth opened, then closed. “Okay… damn. That’s…” She blinked. “That’s actually kind of hot. In a ‘men and their damage’ kind of way.”

Riley didn’t smile. Not yet. Her eyes were still on the screen. “He’s never texted me like this.”

“Do you want to respond?”

Riley took the phone back, staring at the message. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. For a second, her face was unreadable.

Then she texted.

Riley: You were outta line. But don’t twist it—I wanted you. That wasn’t a mistake. You got me all messed up too, Joe.

She set the phone down on her chest and exhaled slow, like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

Haley didn’t press. She just sank deeper into the pillows beside her, nudging a bottle of water into Riley’s hand.

“Get some sleep,” she said softly. “You’ll need it.”

Riley didn’t answer. Just closed her eyes and let herself hope.

Riley set her phone down on the duvet and stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths that didn’t feel entirely steady.

Haley watched her for a beat, then nudged her gently with her elbow. “Hey.”

Riley turned her head. “What?”

Haley offered a small smile—softer than before, stripped of all the teasing. “I know it’s messy. But a guy doesn’t send something like that if he doesn’t care.”

Riley didn’t say anything.

Haley reached over and plucked the bottle of water from the nightstand, handing it over. “You don’t gotta know how it ends tonight. But that text? That was a man trying. And that matters.”

Riley took the water but didn’t drink it. Just nodded once, slow. Like she was filing it away somewhere private.

“Sleep,” Haley added, curling back into the pillows. “Tomorrow’s gonna be long.”

Riley whispered, almost to herself, “Yeah. But maybe good, too.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

The room went quiet, lit only by the glow of the city outside, and for the first time in days—Riley let herself believe it might not all fall apart.

youtube

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

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reds-skull · 9 months ago

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Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (completed)

Been a while since I've made one of these! Decided it's time to get into the biggest category I have...

These don't have any shared theme beside having multiple chapters and being completed, and they're both NSFW and SFW.

As always, make sure to look at the CWs and tags before reading, and if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[Some of these might be by authors I already recommended, you can find that list here]

Shotgun Sunsets, Desert Stars by noxmajor - Soap keeps disappearing. Ghost gets curious.

Chasing Ghosts and Dreams by TheEdwardianOne - Soap and Ghost finally do something about their feelings in a safehouse after a mission.

Give Me Hope & Let Me Down by MechanicalBones - Soap saves his idiot Lieutenant & there's a shit tonne of hurt-comfort & smooches.

Love Is Not An Act, It's A Habit by wodnica - Ghost and Soap got separated from their team, lost and alone. Ghost must reconsider how close his relationship with Soap really is.

The Devil You Know by Artaccountant1 - In order for life in the 141 to go on, Ghost had to die. He knew Soap wouldn't take it well, but he never expected him to end up like this. That mask was only supposed to be for special occasions.

It's cracked and it's scarred (but I would give you my heart) by FetteEule - After a mission gone wrong Ghost and Soap find themselves cut off from their team and have to work together to figure out what happened, all while navigating their growing feelings for each other.

when does a man become a monster by wellyesbutactuallyno - One of Makarov's men takes Ghost. Soap gets him back.

Pieces of You by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap slowly collects pieces of Ghost through his clothes or his weapons. Eventually, Simon gets something of Johnny's.

a Moth to a Flame by theidjits - Firefighter John MacTavish was eager to start his career. What he didn't expect when he was assigned to Station 141 was to fall for the elusive Lieutenant. (firefighters 141)

Trace Them Gently by Grangers_apprentice - There are a lot of reasons Ghost wears so many layers. Layers keep you warm. They keep you safe. They keep prying eyes and wandering hands away. Ghost has more reasons than most to want to keep his skin under wraps. [Restricted]

A Steady Beat in an Unsteady Time by Grangers_apprentice - Soap has been having dreams where Ghost dies, and comes up with an unconventional way of reassuring himself that his lieutenant is fine. (part 1 of the Heartbeat Series) [Restricted]

Blossoms by felicitous - Against his better judgement, John "Soap" MacTavish was in love with Simon "Ghost" Riley. And while he knew that Ghost could never, would never, love him back, he was happy to take whatever attention the man would give him, even if it killed him. (Hanahaki AU)

Remember Me (Please) by Darkflamej - Johnny winds up with amnesia and Ghost is struggling to keep them both alive while trying to balance the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t even remember him.

The Truth Comes Out by Darkflamej - Ghost is under the influence of a truth serum and is trying his best to not confess his love for Soap.

Mission: You by TheD - Soap keeps getting distracted recently by Ghost. They do something about it, leading to an entanglement that leads to complications in their relationship.

the human condition by bilbhoebangins - Ghost shows up to an anonymous hookup and finds a naked and blindfolded Johnny waiting for him. His sergeant is completely unaware of just who he's arranged to meet, and Ghost has to make a choice, between what's right, and what he so desperately wants.

Awake At Night by CYBERGUTS - A friends to lovers fic over 4 seasons.

Prank Call by Team_141_property - A prank call goes wrong, personal walls are ripped down, people get hurt, and feelings get confessed. [read the CW on this one especially]

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet - Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is declared K.I.A during a failed recon mission in 2017. His commanding officer, Captain John Price, takes the loss personally, but has no other choice then to move on. Five years later, Price fights an assassin with a familiar face. [the one and only]

Someday The Dust Will Settle by shadow_in_the_window - Panic was starting to flood Ghost's senses. Johnny had lost a lot of blood. He cleared his mind. There was no way he'd let Johnny die on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

A Sunrise In the Dark by [orphan_account] - “Don’t say that, Johnny.” Ghost spoke, his voice quiet. “Say what?” “That you’d take a bullet.” “I would, though.”

On Begged and Borrowed Time by goforblood - Soap MacTavish is the newest member of Task Force 141. Soap could not have foreseen the enigmatic lieutenant, Ghost, who threatens to turn everything on its head. Can he keep his burgeoning crush on the masked man a secret? Or will someone call his bluff?

Midnight Snacks by MireyaRowan - Ghost is forced to share a room with Soap for a few nights, greatly increasing his anxiety about his night terrors. He hasn't let anyone in the task force know how hard being idle is for him. Soaps makes a whole deal out of it to try and keep Ghost distracted from his past.

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles - Soap, Ghost, Price and Gaz are on a mission to take out Hassan's allies. It goes south when explosives cause the cave system to collapse, injuring and trapping the team.

A Little Death by CaptainMJ - Ghost dragged himself out of Vernon's grave to see that Roba hadn't left. Had waited to see if he'd manage to do it. Ghost never escaped and eventually they were successful in breaking him down and making him someone else. Kinda. Kinda successful.

Spoils of War by CaptainMJ - Ghost defeats Soap's kingdom and after splitting up the spoils, he takes Soap too. Soap expects the worst, but Ghost doesn't seem keen on doing anything to him. How long is that going to last?

Target Locked by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: In a world where having a soulmark is a rare and forgotten phenomenon, finding your other half can be more a curse than a blessing. Soap joined the military intent on escaping the stigma of the mark, adamant he'd never find his soulmate.

Fucking new guy by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Soap joins Task Force 141, ready to prove himself as the best of the best. On his first day, he finds himself choked in the training room by a prick in a skull mask. Now Soap must deal with his growing attraction to his lieutenant, a sarcastic and cold-hearted man named Ghost, while at the same time proving to the 141 he's worthy of being there.

ripe and ruin by ghcst - It's August 1917, the rain doesn't seem like it will ever cease, and Soap starts to wonder if this war will ever end. He also has trouble trying to decide whether or not Lieutenant Simon Riley is really human. [WW1 AU, I recommend it even if you don't like the time period!]

Got your back, you got mine by WhiteBeakedRaven - five times Ghost did Soap a favor and the one time Soap had paid him back.

He Stuck Around For The Moon by escence - He’d been avoiding Ghost, planning on continuing to do so until he could sort out his thoughts and feelings regarding the man, preferably, shifting them into something less intimate. Evidently, he’d run out of time and Ghost had found a way to pin him down, literally and metaphorically.

The fever dream by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are back from a mission when Soap is struck down with a fever. Ghost navigates keeping his sergeant alive while coping with Soap unabashedly hitting on him, riling him up to bursting point.

Worth the Wait by trueheirofslytherin - Soap needs a sign that Ghost is interested in him. Ghost needs a sign that Soap is interested in him. One of them needs to take the initiative.

kiss the skin that crawls from you by congee4lunch - soap gets kidnapped. ghost tears through flesh and blood to get him back. amidst the carnage of a sinner's hands and in the absence of his god, he remembers what it means to love.

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch - when soap invites ghost back home to scotland for a week, ghost hadn't imagined he would wind up in a fake dating scheme to trick soap's family, of all people. it also doesn't help that he's head over heels in love with soap, of all people.

Need You Now by SammyLuka - Alternatively, time in between missions makes Ghost realize that he doesn't know what to do without Soap. Thankfully, Soap understands.

Deep In The Fog by Crispyywheat - Soap is a big ol’ cryptid!! The 141 hunts down monsters/cryptids but Soap being a little idiot but also smart(?) decides to hide amongst the 141 as human. [I believe this one is currently being rewritten, the new work is called "Oh Weary Souls"]

I Didn't Need It, It Needed Me by starryathame - Ghost was wearing his balaclava, but he could feel his true mask slipping. He was becoming more Simon with every day Soap was around, and that knowledge terrified him. He hadn’t seen Simon Riley in the mirror in over a decade; he didn’t even know if he’d recognize himself anymore.

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany - A mission goes wrong and both Soap and Ghost are left wounded. Back home, on his sick-leave, Soap's apartment gets broken into by the very men they were supposed to capture that day.

Wrap Your Arms Around My Cortex, Dig You In, and Let You Drain by [orphan_account] - Ghost returns to home base for the first time in four months and is unequipped to handle the growing emotions he feels toward a certain sergeant.

Say Yes To Me by [orphan_account] - Ghost gets held hostage and Soap saves him + the aftermath.

Pattern Breaker by mothbeast - A canon-compliant rework and extension of MW2: Reboot.

your finger on my hairpin trigger by lostReality - after Soap makes a few comments, about the mask, about sex, Ghost can't think of much else. And when Soap offers to fuck him after calling him pretty, why would he refuse?

earl grey skies by hyacinthwine - Johnny tries not to stare, but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the man. Really, there’s nothing that striking, he’s just an average Manchester man starting his day, yet Johnny wants to ogle just a little more. [coffeeshop AU]

Blinking by witchofsparkles - When Soap started seeing a very specific face with a skull mask and a pair of honey-brown eyes on his mirror and some glass, he thought he lost it good. Then it talked to him. [alternate dimension AU]

drag the lake and bring me home again by amongthebooks - During a stakeout mission in a remote area, Ghost is taken by the enemy. He's bound and thrown into a lake, and Soap has to scramble to get to him in time.

leave and liquor by your_wild_simp - Ghost is forced on a mental leave after a harsh mission. He crumbles, loses himself, has panic attacks and nightmares every time he remembers. But Soap is there, always there for him. Either through the phone, or physically rooming with him, Soap is there to help.

Between the Sand and the Stardust by tey_a - The one where soulmates leave marks on each other at their first skin on skin contact but feel drawn to each other before. Soap joins the 141 hoping to find a home in the form of a team. He finds it in the form of a man instead.

Six Feet Under And Quiet by snapple714 - Everyone in Soap's life has told him he's just too much. Not in the 141 though. But that can't last forever. He's bound to mess it up soon. It seems to happen on a particular mission, when Johnny gets trapped in a grave with a corpse. When the team realizes where they've made him wait for so long, they feel nothing but regret. Particularly Ghost, who is all too familiar with spending time underground…

Stubborn born by DepressoEspresso1000 - Soaps a fucking idiot and almost kills himself just to avoid medical leave, and Ghost is just as much of an idiot but he loves Soap and is not gonna watch him not care for himself.

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle - The new guy in the 141, Soap, doesn't have a filter when it comes to flirting. Ghost has no idea how to cope with that. He can't afford to lose face in front of his peers, so he decides to just… play along.

With Colours Over All The Wasted Years by kilikinnie - everyone owns a necklace that displays your soulmate's emotions through colours and their proximity through temperature. Ghost never expected to meet his, and Soap thought his was long gone.

(every scar will build my) Throne by Sillililli - Soap, the new leader of the MacTavish family mafia, is owed a debt by a family rivel. To repay him, Soap is given Ghost.

Keep The Change by hertzdonut - Soap's been shipped out to a safehouse in the Canadian Wilderness alone, except then Ghost shows up, but maybe Soap wasn't supposed to be shipped out in the first place? And Soap's been running on zero sleep and pure angst since they left Chicago. 'Tis the season.

real people by ghost_throat - ghost is struggling with his recent discharge from military service and doesn't hold much hope for his future. his former captain secured him a job at a coffee shop with a stupid name and annoying colleages and customers. [Restricted]

The ghost lingering in your shadow by arkinh - It took only a few weeks before objects seemed to move around without Soap remembering moving them. Lights were switched on or off by themselves, or flickering as he passed by them. For the first time in his life, he doubted his beliefs. Perhaps he should have left room for the possibility that it was all real?

What's The Name? by AvaLoren - John MacTavish is late to the coffee shop he works at after a late night argument with his girlfriend the previous night. He can't shake the memory playing on a loop in his head until a voice snaps him out of it. The customer before him has him fumbling for words and smiling like crazy. [another coffeeshop AU]

The Wind Will Howl Your Name by Minimelo - After a hunt goes wrong, John finds himself in the care of Ghost. [medieval AU, so so so good]

Cave In by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are forced to abandon a mission after the rain washes them out. They take shelter in a cave while they wait for the storm to pass, except this storm is sitting over them and won't budge. As night falls, the cave cracks, and they find themselves trapped. It wouldn't be a problem, except Soap is panicking, and Ghost is struggling to calm him down.

Burbon Soaked Letters by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap began finding letters full of threats and extremely personal information about his family and loved ones. He desperately hides it from his team while trying to find out the identity of his stalker. [the MCD tag on this one doesn't apply to the 141]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane - Soap is the adoptive son of President Price, but he’s hard to contain and a security risk. He’s never had a secret service agent last more than a few weeks. So, when Special Agent Ghost and his team are brought in to babysit, he thinks it’ll be another few weeks of fun. But a traitor is lurking in the Whitehouse and while Ghost protects Soap from himself, Simon will need to protect Johnny from something far more insidious.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #fic recs #not art #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #this ended up being... 60 fics #for reference im on page 41 out of 196 of my list #it will take me a while to finish the multi-chapters... obviously...

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thinkinonsense · 9 months ago

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Magnetic ──★ Logan Howlett x fem!oc: Chapter Two

╰┈➤Summary: After years of torture, Daphne decides how she wants to spend the rest of her life; at the bottom of a lake. Out of nowhere, Logan pulls Daphne from the water and finds her help. Now they must navigate how to live with their decisions.

╰┈➤C/W: mentions of death, suicide, cursing, age gap, mild violence, issues with infertility, slight sexual themes.

ᯓ★ mdni.ᐟ

ᯓ★word count: 1.7k+

ᯓ★ spotify playlist link

ᯓ★ last chapter here

ᯓ★next chapter here

ᯓ★ A/N: Thank you all for the support on the last chapter. It means a lot and I hope everyone liked it :) Apologies for this chapter being shorter. I am still trying to figure out the direction of this fic but I am excited to see where it goes! Also, reply if you would like to be added to the tag list <3

✮⋆˙ The sun peaking through navy curtains blinds Logan. He wasn't much of a morning person compared to his peers. It's not like he got much sleep anyway. Most nights, he lays awake smoking a cigar or drinking a beer while trying to fight off his tiredness. Nightmares plagued his mind constantly. Often varying between ones of Stryker's torture or a mission gone wrong. Logan knew in the back of his mind that none of it was happening but that didn't stop them from appearing.

By ten most of the students had cleared out of the cafeteria after breakfast. Logan heads downstairs to get whatever is left over when he sees Rogue sitting alone, staring out one of the windows into the courtyard.

"How you doin', kid?" Logan asked, taking a seat across from her.

"Good, you?" Rogue's head turns to acknowledge him.

"Fine," Logan mumbles, taking a bite from an apple.

Rogue examines him for a moment. Logan's cold exterior was nothing new for the teenage girl, but his furrowed brows and low grunts led her to believe something was wrong.

"You don't seem fine." She quips, only receiving a glare in response. "Alright, I guess you're fine."

Her attention turned back to the courtyard. Logan's eyes followed hers until they landed in the garden. Storm and Daphne sat on one of the benches together. Charles must've wanted someone to give her a tour, Logan thought. He doesn't fail to notice his flannel draped over Daphne; unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to her mid-forearm. If Rogue noticed the familiar-looking flannel, she didn't mention it.

"The new girl is pretty." Rogue states as if it is solely fact and not an opinion.

Logan only offers a grunt in response. He couldn't deny that Daphne's beauty was obvious. She didn't need magic to make people believe it.

"Everyone thinks so..." Rogue continues on. "especially the boys."

Logan wanted to laugh at the thought of any of the boys attempting to approach Daphne. Not only would she intimidate them shitless; she seemed like she could put up a fight without having to rely on her powers.

"Bobby overheard Dr. Grey mention that the new girl's powers are strong. Is it true?" The teenager's eyes light up with interest.

Logan hesitates then says, "Yeah, they are."

"She said the girl can make you feel agonizing pain. Dr. Grey said it was miserable. Did she hurt you at all?"

The last thing that Logan wanted to do was have Daphne come across as some scary mad woman who hurts people for laughs.

"She used her powers, yes," Logan quickly added, "But Daphne was startled and didn't remember anything."

Rogue nods understandably.

"Was it bad?"

"I've felt worse pain."

──★

After Storm's tour of the school, Daphne heads back to her room. Classes were in session on the other wing of the mansion. Everyone seemed busy with their daily routines as they passed her by. Halfway down the hall, she felt a light glove-covered hand tap on her shoulder. When Daphne turns around, she sees a girl with blonde stripes in the front of her hair.

"Hi, I'm Rogue." The girl introduces herself with a small smile. "You're Daphne, right?"

"Yeah," Daphne responds, caught off guard.

"Could we talk?"

The two girls sit in one of the common rooms together. Daphne was shocked by how comfortable Rogue seemed around her. Surely by now, they would have warned the students about her, Daphne would've thought.

"Logan pulled you from the lake yesterday, right?" Rogue asked despite already knowing the answer.

It was the biggest gossip the school has had in a while. Could you blame them? Logan practically busted through the doors, yelling for the professor. The classes were interrupted, everyone trying to peek out the door and into the hallway to get a glimpse of the woman in his arms. No one had even heard from Logan in months. The last anyone knew he took off with Cyclops motorcycle and now he has returned holding a stranger.

"He did." Daphne nods. "I'm still not quite sure why, but I am thankful nonetheless."

"Logan is a good guy behind that 'big bad wolf' thing he has going on," Rogue says to ease Daphne. It works.

"I thought it was more of a kitten look than a wolf." She jokes, causing both of them to laugh.

"He kinda saved me too a while ago." Rogue finally tells Daphne. "I had just discovered my mutation; it put someone I cared about in the hospital. So, I ran away. Logan was a cage fighter when we met. I needed a ride and hopped into his trunk until he found me."

Daphne tried to imagine a slightly younger and scared version of Rogue going to a man like Logan for safety. She wondered what led the teenage girl to run away in the first place.

"Cage fighter?" Daphne questioned, trying to ignore the heat rising within her.

Rogue nods.

Interesting.

"I guess what I am trying to say is that I know what it's like to have people be afraid of you." The girl's tone was sorrowing as she removed one of her gloves. "To avoid others because of the possibility of putting them in danger. All it takes is one touch or one look, and their lives could be destroyed. It's not fair."

Daphne had never met another mutant who understood that. A small weight was lifted from her shoulders at the younger girl's words.

"Not fair indeed," Daphne whispers under her breath. "I know what it's like to destroy lives..."

Rogue hesitated before asking, "What happened?"

"There was a guy, one of the guards in charge of me, and over the years, he became the only person I could trust and they knew that," Daphne explained. "One day, they killed him unless I wiped out an entire town of people. So, I did it and in the end, it didn't even matter because they shot him in front of me."

Even after all these years, her heart still breaks at the memory of his lifeless and bloody body hitting the floor; all the people she killed in hopes of saving the man she loved. All of it for nothing.

"Perhaps it was for the best..." Daphne said quietly. "Not everyone gets a soulmate."

"There's still hope," Rogue shrugs. "You never know."

Daphne lets out a small choked laugh at the girl's optimism.

"They cursed me, dear. No one will want to get too close to me. It's in my nature to hurt them."

──★

Later that evening, Daphne finds herself down in the library. It's empty, allowing her some time alone. She wanders around, pulling books from the shelves. While locked away, she was allowed to read in her spare time. One of her limited freedoms. Luckily for her, no one came to bother her for hours.

As time passed by her so did nightfall. Daphne enjoyed the quiet corner of the mansion as she avoided the other mutants living there. Not that any of them were unfriendly, far from it. She didn't see the need to grow attached to another false reality.

Daphne's eyes slowly weigh down as they skim across the pages. It wasn't even midnight yet. She could still hear the others walking by or talking in the hallway. When the door creaked open, she jumped from her chair.

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't know someone was in here." A male voice says from the other end of the room.

"I was just leaving," Daphne responded, shoving the book she was reading under her arm.

The man came into view, tall, dark-haired, and sporting a pair of what looked like sunglasses. He had this boyish look about himself, unlike Logan who was practically an animal.

"No, stay! Please." He insisted, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Just returning something I borrowed from the professor."

Daphne hesitated before letting out a soft, "Okay."

He smiles and moves closer to her.

"I'm Scott." He said, introducing himself and extending his hand to her.

"Daphne."

"Pretty name."

Scott already knew who she was; having seen Jean run off to help Logan when he brought Daphne to the school. He also knew how much it would annoy Logan if he got close to her. Scott didn't like Logan from the moment they met; always seeing him as a potential threat to his relationship with Jean. It was undeniable how Logan felt about Jean, Scott thought. It's how he looked at her, talked to her, managed to get her alone; it was all to get under Scott's skin.

Now it was time for Scott to get under Logan's skin.

"How are you liking it here so far?" Scott asked, resting against one of the bookcases.

"It's nicer than a tiny cabin in the woods but a little too nice for a girl like me." She replies flirtatiously, Scott thinks.

Daphne could see right past his façade. He didn't actually want to know her. The only way she's survived is by staying one step ahead.

"A girl like you?"

"Trouble."

Scott can't fight the smirk creeping up on his lips.

"I don't believe that you are trouble."

"Oh, really?" Daphne giggles, eyes sparkling red.

Suddenly, Scott falls to his knees in front of her; holding his head and groaning in pain. It wasn't nearly the strongest she could go but it was enough to get her point across.

"Believe me now?" She smiles, releasing him. Maybe she was perfect for Logan, Scott thought as he watched her leave.

──★

11:28 am.

Logan's lying in bed, a cigar between his lips, and alone with his thoughts yet again. All day he wanted to check on her. God, he didn't even want to say her name. Barely two days and she's consumed his thoughts entirely and love wasn't something Logan believed in. He thought that if he stayed away or left again at the end of the week, he would be able to free himself from her restraints. She needed this support system more than he did. She deserves someone who actually gave a shit about her.

Talk to her, Logan.

He knew exactly who that annoying voice belonged to.

Get out of my head, Charles.

As soon as Logan didn't feel Charles's presence anymore, his thoughts returned to her. The only time he saw her today she was wearing his flannel, leaving her sweet scent to embed itself in the material. He wanted to feel her clinging to him again; needing him.

If you want me to stay out of your head, stop thinking so loudly.

Logan hated mind readers.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

tags: @marcybug @bethexo07

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it-was-summer · 2 months ago

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Nevertheless (I'm In Love With You) 〰 2

A/N: I like to pretend that Spencer is a wanderer?? Like he thinks of a place and just starts walking without thinking twice. Just like me fr. Two grown adults... struggling with their emotions. Yummy... yummers to those who use that word (my bf). I actually proofread this bitch. Happy late Valentine's Day!!!! Hope you guys like it!

Link to the Ao3: Nevertheless (I'm In Love With You) Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Link to the: Nevertheless (I'm In love With You) Masterlist

Previous chapter: Enemies (If You Can Call It That) You are on: Friends (Associates at Best) -> (Better off as) Lovers Tags: Use of She/Her pronouns (I apologize), talk of forensic science, norovirus mention!!, the flu... my enemy, spencer has a 'oh shit,' moment, Spencer being a little oblivious to jokes and his feelings, gossiping students, something else?, this is a very soft and light fic.

Genre: Slight Enemies to friends to lovers. ForensicsProfessor!Reid x ForensicsProfessor!Reader

Plot: Two professors run into each other at a museum. One invites the other to coffee. They enjoy each other's company, and a friendship blossoms—a friendship teeming with affection.

Word Count: 6,414

Friends (Associates at Best)

Serial killers seldom rest during the holidays. Spencer has spent countless Halloweens, Christmases, and Birthdays working BAU cases. This is the first time in a long time that he can sit at home and not hover around waiting for his phone to ring… and he’s bored.

Considering how fast his mind runs, the boredom comes and goes, but it’s still there. He feels lazy, like he should be doing some work. He’s planned out a rough outline of his lesson plans for the Spring Semester, updated his syllabus, and sent emails to his cohorts two weeks in advance.

Now, he was just killing time for another week. Years ago, he would have begged for this kind of solitude. He could always catch up on some reading. However, the need to engage in some sort of social activity won’t leave him.

He almost finds it laughable when he pieces it together. He isn’t bored. He’s lonely, and he blames all those hours spent surrounded by students and faculty.

He pulls on his trench coat, tucks a technical book in the pocket, and pulls gloves on as he haphazardly drapes his purple scarf around his neck before heading out the door. He tries to think of things he’s never done in the city– everything he’s held off.

He’s done the sightseeing, the occasional movie in the park, and trains to New York City; maybe he just needs to be out of the apartment. After all, he’s technically already seen seven people— mission complete.

Spencer sighs as he pushes on. His feet take him to the metro, where he takes the Red line that will eventually take him to the Smithsonian Museum of American History. There are patches of ice on the sidewalk as he walks toward the entrance, happy to take his gloves off and stuff them in his pocket as he checks for new exhibits.

He enjoys the electricity hall; it was a nice way to kill time. If he was being honest, there wasn’t a plan. He’s still debating the activity as he heads down to the second floor, his eyes scanning for something new, hoping it will catch his eye when he sees a familiar head of hair— or at least he hopes it is.

He watches as you pace outside one of the exhibits on your phone and finds himself smiling as he sees the exhibit’s topic— Forensic Science on Trial. He wonders if you’re here just for this one exhibit, and that makes you better than him because he doesn’t have anything resembling a plan for his day.

He watches you briefly, silently debating approaching you and saying hello. He’s sure you won’t want to see him, but when you hang your phone up and look up, you spot him almost instantly. Your eyes widen, and your brows furrow momentarily before glancing back at the exhibit, smiling, and walking over to him. So much for thinking you wouldn’t want to see him.

Spencer can feel his lips start to twitch upwards as you walk over to him. You’re wearing a trench coat frighteningly similar to his, and your gloves peek out of your left pocket— purple. He finds these accidental similarities amusing, and it’s clear on his face as you stop in front of him.

You notice his gaze falling on your coat and follow it, looking slightly confused before you realize it's the same dark brown as Spencer’s. Your head snaps up, and you point at his coat with a goofy smile. “Woah, we should get Dr. Matthew in on this matching action. It’ll be like a faculty spirit day.” Then you pause. “Or a cult.”

Spencer scoffs a little at the idea, a look of confusion in his eyes, “Cult for what exactly?”

“Trench coats?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I apologize for being enthusiastic about something. It’ll never happen again.” With that, Spencer gives you a playful raise of his eyebrow before shaking his head. You chuckle, your cheeks warm. “Are you here for the exhibit?”

Spencer’s eyes leave yours to look at the exhibit steps behind you, silently debating lying and telling you yes– a vain attempt to hang around you a little longer– but the idea sours the longer he thinks about it. With a shake of his head, he lets out a little, “Not exactly, I was…” He trails off briefly, not wanting to say he feels bored. He’s sure any sane professor would hate him if he says he misses work.

“Bored?” You finish for him, watching his cheeks turn pink. You give him a tentative smile, silently wondering how fast that mind of his works. Of course, he’d be bored. You got stir-crazy after having a few days of nothing to do. Spencer probably got cabin fever in a few hours. You gave him a shrug of your shoulders, “I get it.”

Spencer drew his lips into a small line, nodding. “But I would love to accompany you. If you’d… let me?”

He watches as your nose scrunches up, acting as though the idea perturbs you before you let out a soft chuckle, “If you insist.” Then, you turn on your heel and walk back towards the exhibit.

Spencer happily follows, hands in his pockets as his long legs soon surpass you with long, easy strides. He watches as you walk a little faster to catch up with him, and he’s trying not to find the action funny– honest! But he can’t help the grin that stretches across his face.

You groan, and then you do something surprising. He watches as you look up at him, your eyes pleading silently, brows furrowed just a bit, and his heart clenches in friendly adoration. He gives you a mocking look of exasperation before slowing down and settling into a stride beside you. He doesn’t miss the smile you give him as the two of you start to explore the exhibit.

“So, it’s split into three sections.” You hold up three fingers, “ ‘Of people,’” He watches as you put down one finger, “‘By people,’” Then another, “‘For people.’” Then you put down your hand. Your eyes focus as you walk toward an ancient-looking polygraph machine.

Spencer's eyes linger on you as you admire the machine silently. Organic conversations and reading rooms were always difficult for him. Whenever he tried to be conversational, his words came out awkward—too forced. That didn’t stop him from trying anyway. “Do you come here often?”

Your back straightens with that, casting him a judgmental look over your shoulder, “Are you trying to hit on me?”

His cheeks quickly set ablaze, a deep red against his pale skin as he stutters, “W–What? No! No, I meant, do you come to this museum a lot? The American History Museum.” He stammers out, heart pounding.

You’re surprised at how easy it is to make him flustered, and you hate that you enjoy the sight much more than you should. He frowns softly, almost pouting, as he watches the wicked smile that consumes your previously judgmental glare. “Stop that.” He hisses out, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

“But it’s so easy.” You whine. Spencer gives you an annoyed look, his head tilting to the side to look down at you with displeasure. You sigh and throw your hands up dramatically. “Fine, take away all my fun.”

“Thank you,” he chirps back, the warmth in his cheeks fading remarkably slow. “So, do you?”

You move your head side-to-side, trying to count up all the moments you’ve been in this museum as he follows you to another artifact on display. Your voice is low, trying to be courteous to the small group of older women on your right. “Not often, no. What about you?”

“I like the electricity hall.”

You groan a little, a hint of amusement in your misery. “You would.”

“What’s wrong with the electricity hall?” His brows furrow, his eyes flitting over to an arsenic kit.

“Nothing! It’s simply not the best thing in this museum.”

“Says the sporadic visitor.”

“Yes, well, the sporadic visitor is right.” You scoff out, eyes studying a microdynameter carefully.

Spencer's eyes stay on you, studying your side profile before he bites, “Well, what is the best thing here?”

“Entertainment nation.”

He rolls his eyes; that’s everyone’s favorite. He feels surprisingly stubborn as he starts to list other exhibits. “There’s Inventing in America,”

You shake your head. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p,’ “Entertainment Nation.”

“American Democracy?”

“Enter–” You pause, pretending to think. “-tainment nation.”

He frowns at your stubbornness. “The Star-Spangled Banner?”

You sigh, turning to face him and narrowing your eyes. He raises his hands and nods, “Entertainment nation, fine.” He laughs. He then pauses and snaps his fingers, “Oh! The First Ladies.”

You look off towards the ceiling, a low ‘mmm’ coming from your closed lips before you shake your head. “No, it’s Entertainment Nation.”

Spencer sighs, walking around you to examine a framed court document. “Uninspiring,” he jokes a little.

He smiles when he hears you let out an annoyed grunt, turning on your heel to walk closer to him. “I’m sorry, Dorothy’s red slippers are uninspiring?” You scoff out in a whisper of disbelief.

He waves his hand with a mischievous look, “Apologies. Mainstream.”

“It was the first technicolor movie!”

“Actually, the first technicolor movie was in 1917 called, ‘The Gulf Between.’” He corrects you, his eyebrows shooting up with surprise at the playful glare you’re giving him.

“Well, it is still an American Classic." You cross your arms over your chest. “I thought we were friends.”

Spencer smiles, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “If I remember correctly, the last time I called us friends, you called us associates. " He then licks his lips quickly. “At best!” Then, Spencer’s breathy laughter fills the exhibit, and you’re more than happy to shush him.

The weekend before classes start, Spencer is deep cleaning his apartment. The thought of deep cleaning his apartment hadn’t left his head all morning, so he started the process at noon. He’s scrubbing down his bedroom door when he hears the familiar ‘ding’ of his –often neglected– cell phone.

He scrunches his nose, trying to ignore it, his hands stuttering slightly. Then it dings again, and he’s sure it’s the team. He sniffles softly, the smell of pine sol fresh in the air as he pulls off the rubber gloves Garcia had gifted him four Christmases ago.

The screen doesn’t display Penelope’s contact, nor Emily’s; instead, it shows yours. His fingers scramble to open the message, his eyes reading the text you’ve sent him at the speed of light, ‘Are you a fan of coffee?’

He feels his lips quirk into a light smile as he reads the following text directly beneath. ‘This is me asking you to coffee. Say yes so we can keep pretending to be friends.’

Despite feeling a little taken aback by the fact that you thought the two of you were simply pretending to be friends, he lets out an amused scoff. With a shake of his head, he sets his phone face down and picks up his gloves. However, just as he’s about to slide them back on, he finds himself tossing them on the table and reaching for his phone.

He doesn’t feel like himself as he texts back a hasty, ‘Where?’

The ‘where’ in question is a small coffee shop two blocks away. Spencer knows he could have ignored the text and finished his cleaning, but for some reason, he’s happy –concerningly so— to abandon his half-cleaned apartment.

The cold bites at the tips of his ears, and the wind wildly whips against the sensitive skin until he’s in the shop. He doesn’t spot you immediately, his eyes watering a little due to the cold gusts of wind on the street. After a few blinks, his eyes land on you. You’re wearing that same trench coat and thick knitted multi-colored scarf, your eyes transfixed on the window.

He wonders if you were watching for him. Maybe you were nervous about him not showing? Though that possibility seemed slim. He clears his throat softly as he approaches the counter-height chair next to yours. When you hear it, your chin immediately tilts up toward him, your eyes shining, “Smells like snow,”

No hello. No greetings. Just “‘smells like snow.’” Nonetheless, the seemingly random comment makes him grin, slightly lopsided, as he sets down his messenger bag on the seat next to you. “Petrichor.” He says simply.

You snap your fingers. “Yes! I always forget the word.” Then you take him in, your eyes trailing up towards his incredibly tousled hair. Your lips form an understanding smile. “The wind did a number on you, too, huh?”

Spencer scans your appearance for imperfections but finds none, “Too?”

Your smile broadens with that, finding that you like how he always looks into your eyes when he’s talking to you. “Well, I carry around a brush.” You explain, patting your bag gently.

His lips form a silent ‘oh’ before he hears your name being called by the barista. Your face brightens as you slide off the seat and happily walk over to get your cup of coffee— a sweet, warm latte.

You turn to tell Spencer to order something, but he beats you to the punch, already walking up to the front counter to order a drink. You hum softly as you head back to your previous seat in front of the window.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you invited Dr. Reid to coffee. You had plenty of other friends you could have reached out to, but after spending a whole day with him at the Smithsonian American History Museum, you found his presence calming. Being around him made something inside of you become still— quiet. It was… nice.

You wondered if you had the same effect on him, though you knew that you’d rather die than ask him the question directly. For now, it would have to be a mystery to you, and you simply hoped that you weren’t annoying your coworker.

He didn’t seem annoyed. His hazel eyes held yours in conversation, his body leaned into yours, and sometimes —when he couldn’t hear you well enough— he would lean his head down a little with a gentle ‘I’m sorry?’. A nagging voice inside you noted how attractive that action was, yet you attempted to shove the thought into the deepest recesses of your mind.

Nevertheless, seemingly against your will, your eyes slowly left the window’s view. You peer over your right shoulder, watching Spencer as he pulls out his card to pay the barista behind the counter. You notice the polite smile dancing on his lips, strands of brunette hair slowly falling into his eyes.

Your lips form a smile as you watch how he pushes the hair out of his face, and— that’s enough!

You blink rapidly, turning your face back toward the window and forcing yourself to stare at the windy winter streets of DC. You prop your elbows up on the wood counter, leaning your face into your hands to rub out the growing tension between your brows.

“Everything alright?” Spencer’s worried voice spooks you, eliciting a tiny gasp from your lips. A gasp he seems to find amusing as he carefully sets his cup of coffee down on the wooden countertop with a smile.

“I’m fine, just a headache.” You groan, picking up your latte and taking a delicate sip.

“Have you been getting enough sleep lately?”

You lick some foam off your lip, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling as Spencer sits beside you. “I believe so. I’m sure it is just the thought of the Spring Semester beginning in two days.”

Spencer’s eyes linger on you, how you look down at your cup and then at him. He’s sure something is on your mind. He doesn’t know you well enough to determine what it is, and he wants to accept your answer with a simple nod, but he can’t help the urge to pry.

The following silence seems slightly tense, “You don’t strike me as the type to be nervous about teaching new students.”

Your lips spread into a slow grin as you shake your head. “No, I’m not.” Your fingers slowly trace the handle of your cup. “I don’t know, it's just a feeling I can’t shake— foreboding.” You chuckle at that, rolling your eyes a little at your words. “It isn’t important, just first-day jitters.”

Spencer let out an appreciative hum, the sound low and soft, as he compared your feelings toward the semester starting to his own. He’s always loved school, and learning new information brought him immense comfort. Teaching was a newer passion, but a passion all the same. He loved it. But he could still understand some of what you were feeling.

Before he can express his understanding, a long sigh escapes you. “You ever miss it?” Your voice sounds far away as you stare out the coffee shop’s window.

“What?”

“Profiling. The BAU.”

Spencer’s eyes follow your gaze, watching a young woman clutch her partner's hand. A slight ache in his chest makes him think of everything he’s gained… everything he’s lost. “I miss certain aspects of the job, yes.”

“Such as?” You turn your head to look at him.

“My team. I still see them, but not as much as I used to.” Spencer blinks, finding the words strange to say out loud. Adjusting to teaching was easy, but he missed his friendships. He missed his family. He missed their laughs, easy touches, and dependability. He missed being silently understood. “It’s hard for me to connect with strangers. I’m not exactly a social butterfly.”

He can hear the smile in your voice before he sees it. “I think you’re turning it around.”

You watch his head turn to face you, his warm honey eyes looking particularly amused. “Yeah?” he rasps out in a shy tone.

You nod happily, “Yeah.” His smile grows at that, and you can feel your heart squeezing inside your chest. “Dr. Reid, I’m proud to bump your title to work, friend.”

“Spencer,” He interjects, and you can’t help the butterflies that stir inside your stomach at how soft his voice sounds.

You lick your lips slowly, ignoring your growing nerves. “Spencer.”

And Spencer tries to ignore how much he likes the sound of your voice calling his name.

Madeline Anderson was a dutiful graduate student. She was always happy to plan study dates with her cohort, ask questions openly, or visit a professor during office hours. However, despite a twenty-four-year-old's diligent efforts, she was still a person. And, like most people, she never turned down a good story. How could she when there was a story as good as this one unfolding in front of her very eyes?

Dr. Reid was a favorite of hers. He explained topics thoroughly, and sure, sometimes, he rambled about a different, unrelated subject, but he wasn’t dull. Halfway through his lecture, the hall could hear the eerie creaking of doors that slammed closed with a significant thud. Madeline’s hand kept writing her notes, ignoring the doors until her seatmate, Sadie, kicked her shoe softly.

Once she had Madeline’s attention, Sadie glanced to the back of the room, silently pleading with Madeline to look that way and fast. Madeline scoffs, slightly amused, shaking her head, but she looks anyway. She was a little caught off guard when she saw you shuffling into an empty seat in the back row with a sheepish smile.

Sadie nudges her, a mischievous look in her brown eyes. Madeline raises an eyebrow and mouths a tiny, ‘No way.’

Madeline steals another look over her shoulder to look at you, and your eyes are trained on Dr. Reid as he talks with his hands. Gossip!

Once the lecture was over, the two girls could be seen packing up their items terribly slow. Madeline watches as you stand, waving at a student or two before beelining it for Dr. Reid’s podium. The same podium that Dr. Reid was leaning against and looking down at you like you were a creature of captivating beauty.

Wait! No! His gaze resembled that of a love-struck man in a painting! No, still not good enough. It resembled a love-lorn man pinning over a muse, a creature so close and far away. She finds she can’t look away as you drum your fingers on the edge of his podium, your body leaning toward his.

Sadie is the first of the duo to stand; her steps are small, and Madeline is close behind. Just before they leave the lecture hall, they stop by the door and openly stare. They watch as you pick up Dr. Reid’s messenger bag, holding it out for him to take. The way Dr. Reid smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling sweetly as he thanks you. Then they watch how his hand hovers at the small of your back, leading you away from the podium, and how you tilt your head back to flash a winning smile. Then they’re out of there.

Spencer couldn’t place his newfound friendship with you. It lacked —naturally– the familiarity that the BAU gave him, but it still managed to make him feel at home. He never dreaded coming to work, but lately, he’s found that if he doesn’t see you, the work day feels rather lackluster.

He wonders how you would react if he told you that. He pictures you laughing a little at his confession, or maybe you’d get flustered like you did when he told you he liked spending time with you two weeks ago.

That was another thing; he had never imagined his old coworker’s reactions to something he’d said before. Sure, there were moments in the past when he sat wondering what Derek or Emily had meant in their responses to his comments here and there. But this level of contemplation never occurred with his friends.

He’d never sit at his desk like he is now, wondering how Penelope would react to an invitation to lunch or if she’d laugh at one of his jokes. Spencer couldn’t help but chalk it up to knowing precisely what Penelope —or anyone from the BAU team— would say to the invite. Hell, he even knows the jokes he would share with Penelope. He could easily say it was because he was still getting to know you, but something about that explanation didn’t sit right with him.

That uncanny, familiar rush of excitement that courses through his veins whenever he hears your voice across the hall doesn’t sit right with him. The euphoric feeling he gets from making you laugh. And now, this excessive daydreaming. It’s an emotion he’s previously felt, yet he’s struggling to conceptualize it— frustratingly on the tip of his tongue.

His foot anxiously taps against the carpet under his desk, and he fears that if he keeps it up, there will be a hole where his right foot naturally rests. He pushes his chair away from his desk, stands, and walks across the hall to your office door, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood.

He can hear the faint sound of music coming from your office, and you don’t bother turning it off as you open the door, and Spencer gets an earful of something from the 80s. Spencer tries to suppress the giddy feeling that completely consumes his body when he sees that giddy look in your eyes.

You always had the prettiest eyes, but when you were having fun? They just lit up the room— the universe. He’s seen people brighten or perk up when they are excited, but nothing matches the look in your eyes when you are excited. The last time he saw those eyes shine the way they are now was at the beginning of the semester when Spencer brought in some cookies that Penelope had given him that first week.

You gasp softly, leaning against your door slightly, your head resting on the wood slowly. Those shining eyes stare at him almost dreamily. “Spencer Reid, my esteemed neighbor.”

Spencer tries to ignore the saccharine tone of your voice and the way it makes him feel like he is melting into a puddle of goo. “May I borrow a cup of sugar?” He sounds slightly awkward as he jokes with you, and his head dips down in a vain attempt to hide his growing embarrassment.

Despite his awkward attempt at being funny, he can hear the melodic sound of your laugh in seconds, and a surprising rush of reassurance settles in his chest. “You tried.” You state with an empathetic look on your face. “You looking for a lunch buddy?”

Spencer’s eyes always have this puppy-like look when he wants something. Whenever he’s after something, his eyes —unbeknownst to him— become irresistible. Those honey and green hues in his eyes mix into a pleading look that has your stomach twisting into knots and refusal dying on your tongue. It’s terribly distracting and, if you’re being honest, disturbingly attractive. You’re huffing out a mocking sigh of frustration as you grab your bag, shut your computer off, and lock your office door. “I believe it’s my pick this time.”

“It was your pick last time,” Spencer replies, walking beside you, his head tipping to the side to look down at you.

“I thought you were a gentleman.”

“What prompted this conclusion?" Spencer taunts as his hands reach for the door handle, holding it open with a warm smile.

You walk past him with an incredulous look, “A hunch.” You can see the confused look on his face even when his face isn’t in view. The mental image makes your insides turn to jelly, and a small voice in your head begins to wonder what’s wrong with you.

Before you can dwell in that house forever, Spencer reappears at your side. “At least hear me out,” He pleads softly, and for a brief moment, his slender fingers brush against yours.

Your throat feels slightly dry. “Fine."

Spencer brightens at that, leaving you dazed, “That café you like does specials on soups and sandwiches on Wednesdays.”

It does? Why is it that Spencer knows that about your favorite café and you don’t? The notion that he took time to look up the weekly specials makes you feel —momentarily— warm all over. Then, a nagging voice reminds you of his eidetic memory. Of course! He didn’t take the time out of his week to look up something as silly as the specials at that café you like. He probably just remembered it from last time.

The fact should calm you down and give your pounding heart a reprieve, but it doesn’t. Instead, you can feel your chest tighten with disappointment as you give Spencer a lackluster nod of approval. “Sounds great.”

He notices the subtle shift in your body language, his fingers nervously tugging the frayed edges of his cardigan into his palm. “Unless you’d like to eat somewhere else?” He remembered the weekly specials the last time you took him there and was waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

He doesn’t know if he’s said or done something wrong, but the brightness in your eyes has seemingly deflated. “No, I’m fine! That sounds good.” A tight smile forces its way onto your face as you walk toward the café in question.

–

It’s not uncommon for campuses filled to the brim with students, such as this one, to experience outbreaks of various diseases—the flu, stomach bugs, the occasional case of mono. According to you, they posted pamphlets about norovirus last year— a germaphobe's worst nightmare.

Spencer swears that he’s gotten better at handling germs; prison wasn’t the cleanest place. He got through the Fall semester without catching a single cold, and so far, he is accomplishing the same goal with the Spring Semester.

Unfortunately, you have a different fate. You’ve canceled classes two days in a row now, and the last time he talked with you over the phone, you sounded terrible. Spencer offered to help you grade some papers or take over a class or two, but you vehemently declined.

You trusted that Spencer would do a good job, but the guilt of him doing twice the work would eat away at you as you sniffled, shivered, and coughed roughly on your couch. You’ve slept through half of the day. Your fever is still going strong. Your hands blindly search for your phone, scrambling on your couch until you feel it in your hands.

You wince at the time, six o’clock in the afternoon. Your appetite went out the window yesterday, alongside the ability to breathe through your nose. You groan, back hitting the back of the couch, slumping over a little. You need to eat, but your fog-filled mind and weak limbs struggle to get up and cook something.

A knock at the door spooks a yelp out of you, but it quickly turns into a thick cough. Wrapping your quilt around your body, you hobble to the door and peek out the peephole. Your head reels back at Spencer Reid standing outside your apartment door. “Spencer, I’m sick!”

Watching him through the peephole, you see him grin, “I know, I come bearing gifts.”

You lean your forehead against the door, sighing out at the feeling, “Leave them on the–”

Spencer cuts you off with a rather loud, somewhat embarrassing, “No!” He clears his throat, shifting his weight on his feet. This isn’t his comfort zone, and while he hates germs, he cares about you. It was a feeling he was starting to piece together– tender and true. Not hearing your voice these past two days has felt oddly similar to torture. “No,” He continues, “I’ll heat it up for you, and don’t say no because you sounded terrible on the phone-–”

His sentence is cut off as you swing the door open, and his heart clenches at the sight. Your hair is messy, you have a red nose and pale cheeks, and the look is complete with some baggy pajamas. You groan softly, motioning for him to come in with a wave of your hand as you trudge back over to the couch, laying down with a rough oof.

Spencer's feet hesitate for a second, hazel eyes studying your messy living room– tissues on the coffee table, empty mugs on practically every surface. He swallows roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat as he takes the plunge, taking a comically large step into your apartment and gently shutting the door behind him.

‘This is a terrible idea. I’m going to get sick, and then we’ll both be out of the office, and then–’ A sneeze from you pulls him away from his panicking thoughts, and he looks down at the items in his hands with a sudden purpose.

He can feel his cheeks warm as he looks down at the bouquet of daisies in one hand and the container of noodle soup in the other. He can hear your labored breathing from the couch as he awkwardly finds your kitchen. As he searches for a vase, it dawns on him— this is his first time in your apartment.

His anxiety gets the best of him as he manages to find a pretty-looking vase. He silently wonders if he should stick the soup in the fridge, leave the flowers in the vase, and take his leave. He finds a pair of scissors, carefully cutting the stems as he anxiously chews on his bottom lip. He’ll heat the soup, take care of the flowers, and get out— yes!

He fills the vase with water absentmindedly, arranging the daisies with gentle hands before moving on to the soup. He shakes his head at his anxious thoughts, thousands of reasons to get out, escape routes overlapping in his mind. He finds that he’s already done everything he said he would do. So, why was he still here?

Spencer rolls out the tension in his shoulders as he grabs a spoon from the kitchen drawer. He can hear a soft cough from the living room as he carries the warm soup with extreme care. Setting the soup bowl and spoon on your side table, he looks down at you as you stare up at him tenderly. “Thank you.” Your voice is hoarse as you carefully sit criss-cross on the couch and hold the bowl of soup in your left hand, your right hand using the spoon to search for the best-looking egg noodle in the bowl.

Your eyes stray toward Spencer, who flashes you a warm smile. His nervous eyes look around at the tissues on the coffee table just before he disappears into the kitchen.

You barely have time to ask him what he’s doing when he comes out wearing your hot pink cleaning gloves, holding a plastic bag in one hot pink gloved hand, “How did you–”

“They were by the kitchen sink,” He hurriedly explains as he gets work picking up the dirty tissues around you and tossing them into the plastic bag.

You sniffle as you sip on some broth. “You don’t have to clean. I know how much you hate germs. I won’t be mad if you leave. You’ve already been so helpful–”

“I want to help.” His head turns to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with determination. You let out a soft laugh, covering your mouth as your laugh turns into a shaky cough. Spencer smiles at that, feeling a warm burst of pride in knowing he can make you laugh, even now.

You continue to watch Spencer as he tidies up your living room, his eyes and hands concentrated on the task at hand. You feel your body growing warm, and you’re unsure if it’s because your fever is breaking or because of how sweet he’s being. You shift on the couch, taking small bites of the soup and smiling softly.

If you didn’t feel so terrible, you would be talking more, but you’re finding that this is a comfortable silence. Spencer leaves your view again, the living room now clean of dirty tissues and empty tea cups, as he carries the mess into the kitchen.

When he returns, he’s carrying a vase full of daisies— did he have those when he came in? Your eyes widen at the sight, and you quickly set the bowl of soup back on the side table. “You got me,” A sneeze followed by a short sniffle. “Daisies?” You ask him, cheeks burning with emotion.

Spencer’s pale cheeks are tinged pink as he sets the vase of daisies on your now-clean coffee table. He watches with a warm, giddy smile as your fingertips reach out to brush the petals. “I– well, yes. Did you not see them in my hand when you let me in?”

You shake your head, glancing up at him with a beaming smile. There those eyes are again, big and bright with joy. He’ll buy out flower shops if that’s what it takes. He watches as your gaze drifts back to the flowers, and he can feel a slight shiver of realization slither into his heart. He loves you.

His calm demeanor dissipates rapidly, praying that you don’t look over at him as he stares at you with a shell-shocked expression.

How?

When?

His shell-shocked expression morphs into one of slight panic, and his breathing begins to sound slightly erratic. He’s got to get out here. He needs to… what does he need to do? He can’t think straight. He can’t tell you, no. No, no, no, you’d be appalled.

Well, would you?

As he steadies his breathing, he decides he needs time to think. He can’t reach a healthy conclusion with you three feet away from him on the couch. He’s searching for a good enough reason to leave when you announce, “I love them.” Your eyes flit over to him, and he feels like he could melt.

“I–” He sighs, swallowing against the lump in his throat, “I’m so glad.”

You notice the tension in his shoulders and, resting your back against the couch, “Thank you for everything. You’re the best friend a girl can have, honest.” You lick your lips, a mischievous look in your eyes. “However, I fear I must force you out.”

Spencer starts to protest, but you shush him quickly. “Nu-uh, I won’t hear it. You’ll get sick if you stay here a moment longer.” You stand, sniffling softly as you gently motion to the door.

When Spencer doesn’t immediately move, you groan and gently press your right palm on his shoulder, pushing him weakly toward the door. His feet work against him as he looks over at you, “At least let me–”

You shush him again, earning an annoyed look from the tall brunette man you’re bossing around. You open the door for him, leaning against it as you watch him step out into the hall. He looks utterly confused, stuttering softly, “Well, I can bring you lunch tomorrow?” he suggests weakly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so disappointed at his leaving. He had just decided to leave, so why did leaving feel so… melancholy? Despite his confusing new revelation, he wants to stay and care for you— even if it means catching a cold.

But you persist. “I’ll call you if I need your assistance.”

He wants to tell you you’re being unreasonably stubborn, but he bites his tongue. His lips form a slight frown. He’s on the verge of a pout as he throws his hands up. “Fine.”

Your pale, sick cheeks have a little color in them now as you wave. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

He swallows, feeling the desperate urge to beg you to let him stay. “Goodnight.” Spencer remains standing in the hallway as you slowly close the door. He groans out in frustration, shaking his head as he mournfully makes his way down the hall. He needs to call someone.

Unbeknownst to him, you’re sitting on your couch again, admiring the daisies with a soft smile. You let out a weak sigh, shaking your head a little as the thought crosses your mind. As you slowly lie back on the couch, you mutter to an empty room. “How am I supposed to get over my feelings for you when you do things like this?” Maybe you need to phone a friend, too.

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hiramaris · 3 months ago

Text

Imma fight a man (but Imma find a woman)

Note: Saw this on TikTok and can't help but make a crack fic 😂 Btw, next chapter for Kiss It Off Me is WIP, and after that, I'll start with the request in my inbox.

Here's the link of the Tiktok if you want to check it out: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS6VajaMP/ (Though I'm not sure when's the Tiktok ban for the US so I'll just explain that it's a fanart of farmer and Haley doing the breaking dishes trend lmao)

The late afternoon sun painted everything in warm, golden hues as Haley and Alex stood outside the Mullners' house. Haley’s phone sat on a tripod, its lens aimed squarely at them.

Haley let out an exasperated huff, smoothing her sundress as she glared at Alex. "Come on, Alex! It can’t be that hard!" she snapped, hands planted on her hips.

Alex was hunched over, hands on his knees, panting like he’d just run a marathon. His red tank top was clinging to him, damp from sweat. He held up a hand, trying to buy himself some time. "Gimme a sec to catch my breath, Hay," he said, his voice strained.

"You’re acting like I weigh a freaking ton!" Haley fired back, the annoyance in her voice cutting through the quiet street.

"Yoba, Hay," Alex grumbled, straightening up with a wince as he rolled his shoulder. "You don’t weigh a ton, but we’ve been doing this stupid TikTok trend over and over! I swear, my shoulder’s about to pop out. Ow..."

"That’s because you’re doing it all wrong!" Haley shot back, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You look like you’re struggling to lift me! Me! I can’t have people thinking I weigh as much as a cow or something!"

Alex looked at her like she’d lost it, shaking his head. "How can I not struggle? You’re supposed to be jumping at the same time I lift you! That’s how this works—it’s all about momento or whatever."

Haley’s face twisted into an unimpressed glare, but her lips twitched like she was holding back a laugh.

"Momentum, you dungus!" she corrected, smacking his arm lightly. "Not ‘momento.’ Good Yoba, Alex, do you even know what you’re talking about?"

Alex blinked at her, then cracked a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck.

"Whatever," he muttered. "You know what I mean."

Haley let out an exasperated laugh, crouching down to pick up another plate they’d set aside. "I’m starting to wonder why I even asked you to help me with this."

Alex leaned back against the side of the house, smirking now. "Cookies. You said you’d bake me cookies if I helped."

Haley paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "And you’re not getting any if you keep acting like this is the hardest thing in the world."

Alex groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "Fine, one more time," he grumbled, stepping back into position. "But if this doesn’t work, I’m done."

Haley brightened instantly, clapping her hands together. "Perfect! Now remember, you have to time it with me. Don’t make me look like a sack of potatoes this time!"

The phone’s recording light started blinking as they got into position. Alex muttered under his breath, "I can’t believe this is my life right now..." but crouched anyway, ready to give it one last go.

Just as he was about to lift Haley by the waist, a familiar voice rang out from the path leading to the Mullners’ yard.

"Sup, fellas," you called, adjusting the straps of your russet backpack that were digging into your tank top. "Heard you two bickering all the way from Pierre’s. What’s the fuss this time?"

Alex straightened up with a groan, rolling his shoulder as though he’d just finished a wrestling match. "Ask this crazy woman right here," he said, jerking his thumb toward Haley. "Also, I really need Harvey to check this shoulder…"

Haley gasped, scandalized. "Who are you calling crazy?!"

"Anyway," Alex continued, ignoring her and gesturing vaguely toward the tripod, "Hay wanted to do that ‘breaking dishes’ trend on TikTok, but she keeps messing it up. And now I’m the one with a busted shoulder because of it."

"The hell you mean I keep messing it up—!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Breaking dishes trend? What’s that? I don’t see any of y’all breaking actual dishes.”

Alex barked out a laugh, wiping a hand over his face. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me you don’t have TikTok on your phone.”

“Nah,” you replied with a shrug, setting your rucksack down on the porch. “Signal’s pretty crap on the farm, and honestly, I don’t use my phone much. Too busy keeping the cows from eating the chicken feed, you know?”

Haley groaned, throwing her hands up in disbelief. “Of course you don’t know what TikTok is,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “What kind of hermit are you?”

“Hey!”You said, feigning offense, crossing your arms with an exaggerated pout. “Just because I don’t spend my time doing this whole ‘breaking dishes’ thing doesn’t mean I’m out of the loop.”

“You are so out of the loop,” Alex said, smirking as he leaned against the porch railing, clearly enjoying himself. “Anyway, the trend is basically flexing your strength. The guy’s supposed to lift the girl on their shoulder like she weighs nothing. You know, it makes you look all badass while Rihanna’s ‘Breaking Dishes’ plays in the background.”

“Oh, I see,” you said, nodding slowly as the gears turned in your head. “So... does it require the person doing the lifting to be a guy?”

“Wait, what?” Haley asked, her voice rising an octave as she stepped back, sensing where this might be going.

“That’s not a bad idea, old Mac!” Alex cut in, grinning as he grabbed the phone on the tripod and adjusted the angle. “Camera’s rolling. Do your worst, Y/n/n!”

Before Haley could protest, you stepped forward and grinned at her mischievously. “Alright, Hay. Brace yourself.”

“Wha—wait, hold on!" Haley barely had time to react as your hands found her waist. With surprising ease, you hoisted her off the ground, smoothly maneuvering her onto your shoulder. She let out an uncharacteristic squeak of surprise, her hands instinctively grabbing at your shoulders for balance.

“Yoba, Haley,” you teased, steadying her as if this was something you did every day. “You’re lighter than you look. Guess Alex really is just weak.”

“Hey!” Alex protested from behind the camera, but the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

“Put me down!” Haley squirmed, though her voice lacked any real heat. Her cheeks flushed pink as she realized the situation. “This is not how this is supposed to go!”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t this what you wanted?” you quipped, turning to face the camera as you easily adjusted Haley’s position on your shoulder. “Breaking dishes trend, right? I’d say I nailed it.”

“Y/n, I swear if this goes viral, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Alex barked out a laugh as he stopped the recording. “Too late. That was gold! You have to post it, Hay! Can she, Old Mac? Can she?”

You chuckled, glancing at Haley, who was still recovering from the whirlwind of events. “Sure. I’m fine if she’s fine with it,” you replied with a grin. Gently, you lowered her back onto the ground, her feet touching down as lightly as a feather. “Though… I think I broke her, Alex.”

“Yep, sure did,” Alex teased, folding his arms as he leaned back against the porch with a smug grin.

You laughed as you gathered your things. “Anyway, I’m gonna get going. Need to ask Clint about an update on my tools.”

Alex gave you a fist bump. “Catch you later, Old Mac.”

You turned to Haley, who was still standing there, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or give you another piece of her mind.

“Oh, and Haley?” you called out, smirking as you adjusted the strap of your rucksack. “If you need to do any more trends, my farm’s just down the road. See ya!”

With that, you strolled off toward the path leading back to Clint's shop, leaving Alex cackling on the porch and Haley staring after you, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

****

Alex was practically doubled over, his phone in hand as he scrolled through the comment section of Haley’s latest TikTok. His laughter echoed through the room, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Raw, next question!” he managed to wheeze out, slapping his knee for emphasis.

Haley, sprawled across the couch, groaned and threw a decorative pillow in his direction. “Ugh, stop it already! It’s not that funny.”

“It’s absolutely that funny!” Alex shot back, ducking the pillow effortlessly. “Do you even read these? These women are feral, Hay. And I’m not even talking about the ones thirsting over you. Y/n/n’s got her own fanbase now.”

Haley sat up, her cheeks heating as she snatched her phone to check the comments. Sure enough, there were a few decently wholesome remarks buried among the absolute chaos. But the majority? Feral didn’t even begin to describe it.

AND THE CROWD IS... taking off their clothes?

Born to ride, forced to scroll.

Ho is u single?

I have nothing appropriate to say

I can take both of them. Not in a fight 😏

Does the farmer girl do weddings? As like a bride?

Does anyone know if the farmer girl has tiktok?

Scrolling feels like a divorce

All ten fingers!

I told my parents about us btw

Weird way of proposing but yes.

Wuh luh wuh?

BOOM SHAKALAKAAAA

“Oh, and this one’s gold.” Alex scrolled further, nearly choking on his laughter. “‘I swear my pants were just on.’ Yoba, help us all.”

Haley groaned louder, flopping back against the couch. “I regret everything. I should’ve never let Y/n lift me for that trend.”

Alex grinned, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression. “Oh no, Hay. This is the best content you’ve ever posted. You better pray to Yoba that Y/n doesn’t open a TikTok account, or it’s game over for you. You’re cooked.”

Haley grabbed another pillow, this time fully intending to launch it at Alex’s face.

“Shut up!” she yelled, her cheeks flushed a shade of crimson that she couldn’t blame on the sunlight streaming through the window.

~~~~

A/N: Now that I think about it, this one-shot can be considered part of the Kiss It Off Me universe. The timeline's probably during summer.

taglist:

@joordynn

@taliiiaasteria

@iluvwomen01

@tekanparadiae

@slug-on-bike

@prlan

@mit-suri

@marvelwomen-simp

#stardew valley #haley x farmer #haley x reader #stardew farmer #stardew haley #stardew fanfic #stardew alex

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scariusaquarius · 3 months ago

Text

rehab. 9.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: Things are starting to go according to plan, but is it a good thing...or a bad thing teehee I don't feel as this is my best work, i have such a killer migraine rip but I do hope you guys enjoyed! I definitely skimped on the action scenes ;-; If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8

The city of Gützkow, Germany, was a small and slightly medieval town that was situated in the Northeast. It's population was considerably small with only about 3,000 people occupying the historical town. It was the perfect place to lay low in, but with small towns came lots of talk.

When newcomers or visitors would come, the word spread like wildfire. Thankfully, Natasha and Bucky knew how to blend right in. They were walking around in casual clothing, Natasha wearing a babushka tied beneath her hair, and Bucky was wearing a hat with sunglasses and a surgical facemask.

They were scouting; on the look-out for anybody that looked suspicious to them while blending in with the other tourists that were in the town. Their comm links sparked to life, making the two jolt slightly as Tony's voice came through.

"You guys have got to try the Jaegerschnitzel here at the hotel. I don't think it's got actual jaeger in it though, it's missing that 'why did i put this in my mouth' taste."

"Tony, are you seriously eating right now?"

Steve sounded annoyed, and Tony replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I'm a hungry growing boy, cap. Not everyone can be all muscles and conditioned like you."

T'Challa's annoyance rang loud as he hissed through the comm links.

"Would you both get it together? We're on a mission, not vacation."

Natasha muttered, hiding it behind her hand as she coughed slightly.

"You're telling me."

As they walked, Bucky could see a group of men walking out of an alleyway; wearing mostly black and looking as if they were looking for something or someone. Bucky stated as he looked over at Natasha to look as though he was deep in conversation.

"Got company at 12 o'clock. 6 EC's. I can't tell if they're armed."

Steve hummed in response.

"Let's assume they are. Do we have a visual on Rollins?"

"No. He doesn't seem to be with them."

T'Challa's voice came over the comms again, saying as the wind whipped past his mic.

"He is probably lying low so he doesn't get recognized...or doesn't get caught on camera."

Natasha then observed, watching as they grabbed a few take-out boxes and began to walk down the street.

"Seem to be on food delivery for today. Let's see where they're servicing."

Bucky and Natasha began to move slowly, inconspicuously following the men, and they cut behind an alleyway to walk on the opposite side of the building so the group of men didn't notice them. From above, Bucky could see T'Challa soaring over the roofs, staying as low as he could so pedestrians didn't see him.

The men turned down a narrow alleyway, and their steps seemed to quicken. They unexpectedly when down a flight of steps into a door that was situated in the side of the building. Bucky frowned, and Natasha hummed.

"This must be where Rollins has been hiding...right underneath everyone's nose."

Tony then cut in, asking.

"So, what's the plan? You wanna just...knock on the front door?"

"Tony, do not."

Steve hissed with an annoyed tone, and Tony sighed before he dropped down right behind the group of men.

"Sorry, I have an appointment that I just can't miss. You understand, right?"

Steve began to berate the man as Tony engaged the group, knocking them out one by one, and Bucky couldn't help but to glare into the eyes of the Iron Man mask.

"Really? You couldn't let Natasha and I do this? Rollins might know that we're here now."

"Guess we better hurry then. Hop to it, gang, we've got a mystery to solve."

Natasha snuck in first, carefully and quietly neutralizing guards that were in the hallway, and Bucky came in behind her and went through the doorway. The two of them began to engage four guards that were in a common area of the basement.

While Bucky harshly head-butt one of the agents and knocked them out, Steve's shield came flying into the stomach of the other, effectively incapacitating them. Bucky glanced back to see Steve standing in the doorway in his suit, glaring at Tony as he caught his shield.

"Tony, you were supposed to wait on the other side of the building in case they had an escape route."

"I thought Mufasa could handle it."

T'Challa hissed with disdain into his mic.

"I am a panther, not a lion!"

"Okay, does Kitty Claws work?"

Bucky just groaned and declared.

"Can we please focus? Steve and I will go down the left hallway, you and Natasha can go down the right. T'Challa can watch the south exit while Clint watches the North exit."

Steve then frowned, asking.

"Wait a minute, has anybody heard from Clint?"

Suddenly, there was a high-frequency interference that made everyone clutch their ears, and Clint's apologetic voice came over the line.

"I am so sorry, everyone, I couldn't figure out how to get my hearing aids to connect to the server. No movement so far, nobody's gone in nor out, but I have it covered."

Natasha couldn't help but to snort and Tony shook his head.

"I told you that I could update your ears for you."

"I'm not interested in being able to hear you 24/7 Stark, but thanks for the offer. I'm turning my ears down now."

Clint went quiet, and Steve instructed.

"Let's get a move on. The quicker we get this done, the better."

The group split up, and Bucky and Steve began to carefully go down the hallway. Bucky's ears were straining, listening for anybody that might be in the rooms on either side of the hallway, and Steve approached the door at the end of the hall. From within, Bucky and Steve could hear a man speaking that sounded a lot like Rollins.

He gave Bucky a look before nodding, and he kicked the door in with a grunt. The door splintered and came flying off of the hinges, and Bucky raised his gun, glaring down his sight at the empty room. There was a recorder propped up against a microphone, and Steve frowned when Bucky got a haunted look across his face.

"What is it, Bucky?"

"The trigger words...they're reciting her trigger words!"

Steve looked grave and he immediately called within his comm link.

"We got an emergency. Rollins isn't here, but he's got a device broadcasting the soldier's trigger words. We need to get back to Wakanda immediately!"

Tony's voice came over the comm link, sounding slightly out-of-breath.

"A bit busy, Cap! We've got a bunch of hostiles. No sign of Rollins yet either!"

Bucky slid behind the desk, crushing the recorder, and he stated.

"Fuck, they implanted some type of advanced radio within the neural tissue of the soldier's brain that's seemingly undetectable from CT and MRI's. It says that it's engineered to emit controlled radio waves, operating on low-frequency electromagnetic waves that interact with the brain's electrical signals."

Tony hummed after a moment of grunting and huffing.

"It's basically like a small speaker. Whatever they want the subject to hear, they can relay to them through that chip."

Steve instructed.

"We need to get to Wakanda immediately. Tony, can you get us there quickly?"

"I can't get us there in enough time without a quinjet or unless I go alone."

T'Challa called through the mic with urgency.

"We have a way. If you are not with me within the next two minutes, I am leaving without you!"

Steve and Bucky began to jog as fast as they could to T'Challa's location where a Royal Talon Fighter was hovering and being piloted by Okoye. Clint was inside as well, and a moment later, Tony and Natasha arrived. They all jumped into the jet, and T'Challa exclaimed.

"Go!"

-SHURI-

She didn't know what had happened. It had been peaceful in the lab as Shuri ran some more programs to further break down HYDRA's programming when all of a sudden, the digital representation of the soldier's mind began to pulse with red light. The soldier had reacted physically as well, clutching their head and screaming.

Within real time, Shuri watched as her safeguards were destroyed and the whole brain went completely red. When the soldier stopped screaming, Shuri was horrified to watch as she turned around, and the Winter Soldier was back.

Shuri exclaimed to the other scientists that were in the lab to evacuate before initiating a lockdown on the lab. The soldier had wasted no time, bounding across the lab and throwing lab equipment out of her way before she began to punch the door. There was a energy barrier that was installed in the door, repelling her punches.

However, the barrier was weakening with every punch, and Shuri began to curse in Xhosa before calling her brother. With no time wasted, T'Challa answered the call.

"Shuri! They have some sort of chip installed in her brain that is like a speaker. You must get away from her! The Winter Soldier has been activated!"

"How is that possible? I scanned her brain completely! There's no way I wouldn't have noticed!"

T'Challa clicked his tongue loudly, replying.

"They made it with the intention of it never being found. Stark said it's within her neural tissue."

Shuri cursed again as the woman slammed against the barrier again, shattering it before she began to punch at the door again. Shuri watched as the door began to bend, and Shuri stood up, members of the Dora Milaje standing around her.

"Evacuate the Citadel! Protect the people!"

"We can see the Citadel. Hold on, Shuri!"

The lab door suddenly flew off of the hinges, and as the kingdom went on lockdown, the lights flickered. The soldier stalked out of the doorway, and Shuri stood protectively with her vibranium gauntlets readied.

"Isithunzi, please stand down! I don't want to hurt you!"

The woman did not respond, marching towards her, and Shuri shot her gauntlets, the soldier flying backwards and skidding on the ground. Shuri frowned, calling again in Russian.

"Отойди, солдат!"

The soldier faltered for a moment, but she stood up with an angry sneer on her face. As she walked, the feeling of dread filled Shuri, and the Dora Milaje immediately began to engage.

Despite the soldier's weakened state, she still fought as if she was in prime condition. Dodging spears and swinging her fists, the soldier was a beast.

There was no other way to describe the way the soldier fought. She was calculated and cold with her movements as she engaged the Dora Milaje.

She threw one of the women into another, letting out a roar of frustration, and Shuri exclaimed.

"Do not hurt her! Try to incapacitate!"

The Dora Milaje immediately changed their approach, and though they were coordinated and quick, the soldier seemed to anticipate every move that they made.

Once the Dora Milaje were taken down, the soldier began to advance towards Shuri. Shuri stood at the ready, a bead of sweat running down her temple.

As the soldier advanced, the wall to her left suddenly exploded, Iron Man tackling the woman straight through the opposite wall. Shuri gasped as T'Challa and the Avengers came barreling into the room. The king ran to Shuri, asking her.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but our walls are!"

T'Challa shook his head before he quickly yanked the two of them out of the way of a stray gurney; glass shattering and the bed creating sparks as it slid across the ground. Natasha came barreling through the hole, and she groaned softly once she stopped sliding on the ground before looking up at Shuri.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have an extra pair of those gauntlets, would you?"

Shuri shook her head, shrugging.

"Only the prototypes."

Natasha huffed, and Clint came to her side, checking her over before shaking his head and grabbing an arrow that was glowing blue.

"I need you guys to give me an open shot!"

Within the lab, the soldier was currently being crowded and held down by Steve and Bucky, her feet kicking and teeth gnashing as she tried to escape. Tony slapped a collar onto her neck, and when the two super soldiers let her go, Clint took his shot and electrocuted the soldier. The electricity triggered the collar, and harsher voltage began to course through the soldier's body.

The soldier screamed before dropping, convulsing on the ground, and Bucky wiped his nose of blood. Tony's mask slid off, and he shook his head.

"I feel like that could have been a lot worse. I think even you pack a harder punch than she did, MC 1."

Bucky huffed, muttering with an exasperated look.

"She hasn't been properly fed and hydrated in a long time, so she's not exactly in prime condition. If she had been, this would have been a lot worse."

Steve looked over at Shuri as the princess stepped through the door with a grave expression while T'Challa looked angry. Steve immediately apologized, guilt running deep within his mind.

"I'm sorry, Shuri, I didn't know."

Shuri raised her hands, shaking her head.

"It's not your fault. I feel so stupid that I did not think about the possibility of them installing a physical failsafe, not just a mental one."

T'Challa was silent, and Okoye looked livid. The woman stayed quiet, however, and Natasha said as Clint walked her into the lab.

"To be fair, it seems like relatively modern technology that they could have installed recently. We know that she's been active since 1985, and to my knowledge, they didn't have that type of technology then."

T'Challa then decided, crossing his arms.

"Then let us get this lab cleaned up so we may locate the chip and extract it. We must play it safe as we don't know if Jack Rollins still has another communicator."

The Citadel was released from lockdown, and the lab lit up. Shuri opened up a hologram of the soldier's brain, pointing at the large portions of red that had showed up again.

"Her activation completely rendered my safeguards useless. What I can do is reinstall them, begin to locate the chip and extract it, and then begin rehabilitation once more."

T'Challa couldn't help but to say.

"Is rehabilitation still possible?"

"Yes, it is."

Shuri looked stern, and T'Challa just sighed. Tony glanced around the lab and began to ask Shuri about the different equipment that she had while the soldier was placed onto the cryostasis pod bed. Bucky moved back after strapping her in, and Steve shook his head.

"I should have known."

Bucky gave Steve an incredulous look, his blue eyes wide with exasperation as he looked at the upset Captain.

"How could we have known? I know HYDRA implanted trackers into every subject, but even I wasn't aware that they experimented with technology like this."

Steve had a forlorn look on his face, and Natasha spoke as Clint stood by, tilting his head as he looked at the soldier.

"Don't do that to yourself, Steve, none of us knew. Not even Shuri."

Steve looked defeated, and Clint hummed in thought as he gazed at the sleeping soldier.

"You know, she doesn't even look any older than 25."

His statement made Steve shake his head, and Bucky muttered as the wounded began to file in and begin medical treatment.

"Let's just figure out how to get that chip out."

STORY NOTES: Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Tony, T'Challa, and Clint all go to Gützkow, Germany, to locate Jack Rollins. While Bucky and Natasha are scouting on the ground, Clint and T'Challa are on the roofs. Steve is stationary on the opposite side of the town, and Tony is at a restaurant.

Natasha and Bucky spot a group of suspicious looking men that are carrying boxes of food, and they begin to follow them. They arrive at an entrance that is hidden within the alleyway, and Tony decides to engage immediately despite Steve's orders not to. Unable to wait, the Avengers begin to infiltrate the secret base. After engaging and incapacitating most of the agents, the Avengers split up to cover more ground.

Steve and Bucky arrive at a room at the opposite side of the building, and they discover that Rollins is nowhere to be found. However, they find that a voice recorder is playing the soldier's trigger words into a microphone. Despite crushing the device, the words have already been looping for an unknown amount of time. Bucky discovers that HYDRA implanted a chip into the soldier's brain that emits radio waves that translate into words; allowing HYDRA to remotely activate the soldier.

Upon finding this out, T'Challa calls Okoye to come to his location to pick him up and advises the Avengers to hurry, or he will leave them behind. In Wakanda, Shuri and the Dora Milaje are currently engaging the soldier after she has been completely reactivated. The soldier is able to disarm and defeat the Dora Milaje, but before she is able to begin engaging with Shuri, Tony breaks through the wall and attacks the soldier.

Natasha and Tony begin to engage the soldier, but the soldier is able to throw Natasha off and back out of the lab, in which Natasha asks Shuri if she has extra gauntlets that she could use. Inside the lab, Bucky and Steve arrive to give Tony backup, and they are able to detain the soldier.

Tony puts on a collar that delivers high-voltage shocks to incapacitate the soldier, and Clint activates it after shooting the soldier with an electrified arrow. Once the soldier is taken down and put in restraints, she is immediately put into cryostasis for the time-being.

Steve then apologizes to Shuri, but Shuri brushes him off and tells him that she feels stupid for not considering the possibility of HYDRA implanting a chip as a physical safeguard alongside the use of mind-control techniques. T'Challa suggests that they remove the chip as fast as possible, and the Avengers begin to administer first-aid while beginning to research how to remove the chip.

TRANSLATION:

Jägerschnitzel - An Austrian meal that is made with veal and a creamy sauce that is usually made with mushrooms, tomatoes, or by itself

EC - Military Lingo for Enemy Combatants

Isithunzi - Xhosa for Shadow/Shade

Отойди, солдат! - Stand down, Soldier!

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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insert-random-account-name · 3 months ago

Text

Crappy Character Analysis, part 8

As I'm posting this, I've realized that I was really hard on Opportunist. So if he's your blorbo, I apologize. Thank you all for reading these, and be sure to check out the links for your favorite voice!

part 1 (Broken) part 2 (Skeptic) part 3 (Cold)

part 4 (Paranoid) part 5 (Stubborn) part 6 (Contrarian)

part 7 (Smitten) part 8 (You are here) part 9 (Cheated)

part 10 (Hunted) part 11 (Hero)

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST

Of all of the voices in Slay the Princess, the Voice of the Opportunist is one of the most hated. I understand, I hate him too. The Pristine Cut has firmly cemented his place as an annoying stuck-up boot-licking jerk who changes his mind every five seconds. He tells you to stab the Thorn, actually stabs the Princess (and you) in the P&D, gets into a street fight with the Witch, and, when she possesses you, pulls out a chair in your subconscious for the Wraith to sit on and hands her your resume. What’s even worse about him is that he can’t even make up his mind! Any time someone says something, Opportunist immediately starts buttering them up, telling them how great of an idea they have. However, if someone else disagrees, he switches sides, telling them that their idea is the best, and that’s why he has always sided with them. In every appearance, he’s arrogant, slimy, and all-around untrustworthy. He even denies seeing the mirror, something which, as proven in literally every other chapter, every voice can see, just for the sake of playing both teams.

Why is the Opportunist like this? He wants to self-preserve. Every time you get him, you do it by stringing the Princess along, making her believe you’re going to help her, and then stabbing her in the back when opportunity arrives. Each time, the reason you stab her is because you value yourself and your agency over the person you promised to free. In the Spectre, you know what happens after you slay her, so why bother? To get her out of your head, to get full rein of your mind. In the Nightmare and Chapter 1, you stab her when it’s clear that the two of you will never escape together while the Narrator has anything to say about it. Every time Opportunist changes his mind, he does so in order to align himself with who he thinks has the most power. He does this in an attempt to ensure your safety when things inevitably get messy. This is seen in the Thorn, when he quickly switches sides once he realizes the Princess might have the knife. However, if you find it touching how much he cares about you, there’s still more to this argument. When Opportunist says he’s looking out for you, what he really means is “The body I’m inhabiting,” since, in the P&D, he stabs you with little hesitation. He wants to protect himself, but he claims to want to protect you because in the end, you are making the choices. The more he aligns himself with your viewpoints, the more likely you are to like him, meaning that you’ll take his advice later on. However, as showcased throughout the game, he really sucks at sounding genuine, and lays it on way too thick. Of course, he isn’t ride or die; if you make a choice that puts you in danger, Opportunist will protest. Out of all the voices, he’s the one that lacks empathy the most (Even more than Cold!). He is simply unable to make sacrifices to help someone else. He cannot put his trust in anyone except himself. He would never surrender power to another, no matter the risk. Honestly, I think the main reason people hate Opportunist is simply because of this attitude. I might have been a bit harsh on him, but the Pristine Cut did not make me like him very much.

#slay the princess #stp #stp voices #voice of the opportunist #that bitch #I'm a third of the way through cheated #i'm really having fun with this series

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smilesrobotlover · 7 days ago

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Chapter 4- Shrines

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AO3

Summary: it’s been three years since Calamity Ganon attacked Hyrule, and everyone was recovering well from it. Until the strange substance gloom appeared, making people sick when they touched it. Wanting to find answers, Zelda and the champions went beneath the castle against her father’s wishes to try to solve the problem. Meanwhile, the King of Hyrule is desperately trying to figure out more about the gloom, though no one knows the true danger lurking beneath Hyrule…

Hey guys! This au is gonna be on hiatus while I wait to see what Age of Imprisonment has to offer. I just want to do what I can to make this how I want it to :) Hope you enjoy this.

Despite the struggle with the ability, ultrahand was a very convenient tool to use as Link traveled across the islands. Ziplines and planks helped him reach areas he couldn’t reach on his own, and so he was moving through obstacles that normally would make him stuck.

Link kept his eyes peeled for the green shrine, but with the trees and small huts scattered across the island, the next shrine was possibly blocked out of his vision. After wandering around for a while, Link heard a sound, and he turned to see a steward construct cutting down a tree with a familiar ghostly figure watching it. Curious, Link walked over to Rauru, who was sitting on a tree stump with his head resting in his hand. It was an odd position to see him in—Rauru acted very proper and dignified from what he saw, so seeing him so casual was surprising to Link. Though he rarely knew the guy, so who was he to know how Rauru really acted?

Rauru’s gaze turned to Link, a melancholic look in his eyes. He gestured to the steward construct cutting wood, inviting Link to look as well.

“Steward constructs were made to assist us,” he simply explained, “they gave us time to do things we wanted to do instead of worrying about chores. We were always fond of them.” Rauru smiled slightly, but it quickly dropped. “I’m surprised they’re still working to this day. There’s no one to serve and assist, yet they still work as if there is. It’s disquieting to me.”

Link watched the steward construct, simply cutting wood and tying the bundles together. He could understand why Rauru found it all disquieting, serving with no purpose. His mind went to the steward construct that was cooking food for people to enjoy, only for it to go to waste in the end. It must’ve been a lonely life for the constructs.

“Are you finding the shrines alright?” Rauru suddenly asked, and Link shrugged. “There’s a shrine just up ahead. It shouldn’t take you long to find it.”

Link nodded, grateful to have some direction, and he began his trek to the next shrine while Rauru simply watched. When he reached a small lake, he was able to spot the glowing green swirl above the gray shrine, along with a goron pacing in front of it. Thank Hylia.

Building a boat with his ultrahand, Link sailed across the lake, feeling excitement when Daruk spotted him getting closer. The goron rushed to the shore where Link landed, and Link was quickly scooped into a tight hug.

“Link! You’re alive!” Daruk cheered, setting Link down and looking him over. “Sorry, little guy. Don’t mean to hurt you.”

Link smiled and gave him a reassuring nod. Daruk grinned and reeled back his arm, making Link brace himself as the large hand smacked his back harshly. He nearly fell from the impact, but Daruk caught him before he could hit the ground.

“I’m glad you’re ok, little guy.” Daruk said, holding him close. “We were so worried about you! Revali came by and told me that you were ok, but he didn’t say you were coming here.” Daruk rubbed his nose. “That rito, never telling me anything.”

Link nodded, not wanting to say that Revali actually told him to stay put.

“So why are you here, little guy? You looking for everyone?” Daruk asked, and Link shook his head. It was certainly something he wanted to do, but he needed to focus on getting into the white building. Link pointed to the shrine behind Daruk, and he gave him a knowing nod. “I see. I was wondering what that thing was. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Link nodded, stepping towards the shrine and staring at the green magic circle that appeared. Touching the circle, the shrine opened up for Link, and Daruk gasped at the newly-made entrance, his eyes wide.

“Woah! How’d you do that?”

Link lifted up his arm to show Daruk, and the Goron champion gasped at the sight.

“Is your… arm ok?” He asked, a hint of timidness in his tone, as if he were afraid to ask. Link simply shrugged again, not knowing how to explain the arm that belonged to Rauru. Daruk stared for a moment, but his concern quickly melted away. “Well, it looks like it’s ok. Sorta.”

Link mustered up a smile and rested his arm to his side. Daruk looked between him and the newly opened shrine and he stepped back, inviting Link inside.

“I couldn’t fit in there if I tried, but I’ll be waiting out here for you!”

Link gave him a grateful nod and walked into the shrine, feeling relieved that Daruk was safe and waiting for him. He was like a rock for him—no pun intended—and Link always enjoyed his presence. Knowing that he was waiting for him outside brought him much comfort, which was exactly what he needed upon stepping into the shrine.

Though he was bracing himself for it, the burning feeling returned to him as soon as he entered, causing him to stumble and gasp in pain once again. This was going to get old real quick.

“Link.”

Rauru’s familiar voice spoke up, and Link stood up shakily, giving Rauru a nod.

“I’m happy you were able to find this shrine. Now, let’s waste no more time. Hold out your hand.”

Link obeyed, extending his right hand and allowing the Zonai magic to absorb into his arm. Curious about the new ability, Link glanced up at Rauru.

“This ability is called fuse. It allows you to… well… fuse something nearby to your weapon or shield, thereby enhancing it.” Rauru turned behind him, pointing at a sword laying on the ground. “Why not pick up that sword just ahead and then fuse a nearby object to it?”

Link swallowed, dragging himself to the sword. He was excited to have a real weapon finally, and he spotted a rock laying nearby which he assumed was the object Rauru wanted him to fuse. Closing his eyes, Link reached out, the familiar feeling of his arm extending to grab the rock, but Rauru let out a hum of disapproval.

“This isn’t ultrahand. This is fuse,” he said. “They’re similar, but where you stick things together temporarily with ultrahand, you permanently seal things together with fuse.”

Link frowned, dropping the rock and staring at the sword. It must’ve been similar to strengthening his swords and weapons, merging the weaker ones into the main one to make it stronger. He looked between the sword and the rock, his eyes narrowed as he tried to think how to awaken the fuse power.

“Fuse is a bit complicated, but it’s like a very quick way to stick things together with ultrahand,” Rauru explained in an attempt to help Link understand it better.

He nodded, feeling more confident with that comparison—he just needed to be quick. Link stared at the rock again, this time extending the sword, and using the feeling of the blade, the magic, and the rock, he was able to quickly grab the rock and fuse it to the tip of his weapon.

“My, you picked that up quick!” Rauru exclaimed, walking closer to him. “It’s a powerful ability, perfect for more long term things unlike ultrahand. But because you’re new at this, you may only be able to fuse small things together, like weapons with objects.”

Link tilted his head. If he got stronger, would he be able to fuse bigger things together like buildings? He thought about the buildings scattered across the island and wondered if they were all built by fuse. The Zonai were mysterious indeed, and it was no wonder why Zelda was so obsessed with them.

“Make sure you think before you fuse, however,” Rauru warned, his turquoise eyes staring at Link, “if you fuse something you don’t want to be fused together, tearing them apart would be hard, and may end up destroying one or both objects. So just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Link nodded, staring at the rock sword in his hand. It not only looked different, but it felt different; it felt stronger. Glancing at the rock wall in front of him, Link confidently moved to it with his weapon raised. In one swing, the wall fell to pieces, crumbling at his feet from the force of his new rock sword. Satisfaction and excitement filled Link as he thought about the possibilities for fuse—the weapons he could create, how each object would strengthen the weapons, the possibilities were endless!

He heard Rauru chuckle behind him, clearly picking up on his excitement.

“Fuse is a good ability, easily the most useful when you become strong enough. Let me show you something.”

Rauru led Link through the shrine, showing him a bush tucked away in a small room. The bush held glowing red fruit that Link had never seen before, and he stared in amazement while Rauru pointed to it.

“Fuse can work with arrows as well, try it out with the fire fruit.”

Link stared, picking off the fire fruit and observing it. It had dead leaves surrounding a warm, pulsing center. He was careful as he held it, not wanting it to combust, and he pocketed the fruits and looked up at dead leaves surrounding a chest on a wooden shelf. If this was a fire fruit, then maybe he could set the leaves on fire with it.

Using the bow and arrows he got from earlier, he pulled the string back, using the same feeling of fuse to merge the fire fruit and arrow together. The light brightened in front of him, intense heat making him sweat, and he released the arrow to the leaves where it immediately set ablaze. Incredible. Maybe the arm wasn’t such a bad thing after all if it gave him remarkable abilities like this.

When the chest fell, Link was able to open it to receive a key. He didn’t know the door ahead was locked, but he was glad he got the key first. Despite the excitement dulling the pain, he still felt weak and tired, so anything to make this shrine easier for him was appreciated.

Unlocking the door and climbing a ladder on the other side, Link’s excitement went away when he saw a soldier construct, this one looking far more tough than any he’s fought before.

“Oh no,” Rauru muttered, giving Link an apologetic look. “I forgot about the soldier constructs in the shrine…”

Link turned to Rauru. He forgot? This was a shrine, not a battle ground! What reason was there to having soldier constructs? The Sheikah shrines at least had small guardians to test him, but why here?

“I’m so sorry, Link,” Rauru apologized, “I put the soldier constructs in the shrines to keep trespassers away. I didn’t think they’d still be here.”

Link groaned, holding up his rock sword and eyeing the construct as it began moving towards him. He just needed to focus on this battle.

Dodging an attack from the construct, Link swung his sword, his stiff and heavy limbs making him move slower than what he’d like. He landed a few hits on the construct before it swung at him again, and he was barely able to jump away in time. If he was feeling normal this battle would be easy, but he was clumsily moving around, barely dodging each swing his way. Fortunately though, his sword was enhanced and made it strong enough for him to defeat the construct in just a few hits, and it fell to pieces before him, with its own fused weapon falling to the ground.

Then Link found himself lying face-up, with Rauru watching over him worriedly. Did he… pass out?

“Are you alright?” Rauru asked, and Link attempted to sit up, his entire body feeling impossibly heavy. Rauru watched him for a moment, his arms out protectively as if he would be able to help him up. “You suddenly collapsed after you defeated the construct, and I got worried.”

Link rubbed his head, feeling nauseous. He needed to leave this place.

“The blessing is just up ahead, you’re almost there,” Rauru said, holding up one finger. “And no more constructs, I promise.”

Link nodded, feeling slightly relieved that there were no more constructs to fight, and he struggled to stand on his feet while Rauru lingered nearby. He was wishing the Zonai wasn’t a ghost so he could help him move to the end, but he couldn’t complain too much. Rauru was very helpful despite his ghostly state, and as long as he was by his side, he’d be able to drag himself to the light blessing.

“Your fighting is impeccable, Link,” Rauru commented as Link stood up, and he simply shrugged. It certainly wasn’t impeccable before with the way he was moving, but Rauru continued. “Despite your state, you fought well. I’m impressed.”

Link nodded, picking up his sword and the soldier construct’s weapon and moving forward, seeing Rauru follow out of the corner of his eye.

Once Link reached the statue of Rauru and the Hylian woman, the feminine voice once again spoke to him, and the light blessing appeared before him. The fiery sensation of the gloom fighting back against the light flared up again, and he could feel himself threatening to pass out again, black spots pricking at his vision as he desperately reached out to the blessing. Then the pain subsided slightly, and he felt a warmth spread throughout his chest.

“May the light blessing grant you the strength you seek.” The voice said, and once again, Link felt himself leave the shrine, and he was back outside where Daruk patiently waited. As soon as the sun hit his eyes, Link felt himself waver, and he fell right into Daruk’s big hands.

“Woah! Are you ok, little guy?” Daruk asked, holding Link up as he leaned into him. Goddesses he was so tired…

“Ah, you always push yourself too hard,” Daruk muttered, carrying Link over to a tree and setting him down. “So how was the shrine thing? What’s going on with it?”

Link sighed, leaning back against Daruk with relief. He normally could handle overexerting himself, but with the gloom in him and fighting when he was already feeling unwell, he supposed it was too much. Rest was very much needed. Daruk stared at him for a moment while Link pointed to where the white building was, and he hummed.

“I see! With the shrines, we’ll be able to enter that building!”

Link nodded, and Daruk beamed, smiling at the white building.

“I assume the princess is in there; we’ll be able to get to her.”

Link nodded again, closing his eyes and leaning against Daruk. Once he got all the shrines, he and the champions would be reunited with Zelda, and they’d be able to find out what was happening with Hyrule. It’d certainly be nice to move past this island. Daruk pulled him closer, smiling down at him.

“You get some rest then, little guy. I’ll watch over you,” Daruk said softly, and Link took that as permission to fall into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind blew through his hair, the sky a blood red as rain dripped down his face and into his eyes. He couldn’t see well, his vision blurry with tears as he looked around at the battlefield. The champions laid at his feet, eyes empty and dead, blood covering their lifeless bodies. He felt tears falling as he looked up to see the corpse from below the castle, watching him with hatred in its eyes, gloom pooling around it and facing him. Pain suddenly appeared in his abdomen, and he looked down to see blood pouring out of him, blood mixed with gloom that began to suck the very life out of him. He fell to his knees, watching helplessly as the corpse got closer. A boom was heard with each step, the piercing eyes never looking away from him. Another boom that made him flinch rang out, dread creeping throughout his body and grabbing hold of his very spirit. It was over, Hyrule was lost. The corpse raised the sword in its hand, the eyes never leaving him, and it swung down, making everything go black.

Boom.

Link flinched awake, sitting up and panting heavily from the nightmare. The loud booming sound was heard again, and he spun around to see Daruk fast asleep next to him, his snores sounding louder than thunder. He almost laughed, the snores entering his subconscious, but the way they were used in his nightmare made him unsettled.

It was horrifying, the sight of the champions dead before him, and it was all due to the corpse they found earlier. Something they weren’t ever supposed to find. Link leaned forward, rubbing his face tiredly. It was dark outside, clearly deep into the night, and it was silent save for Daruk’s snores. Link must’ve been really exhausted to have slept so long. It was almost too long, with another shrine he still needed to find to get in the white building, along with finding Mipha. Every second away from her was agonizing.

Despite the long rest, he didn’t feel any better; the anxiety from the dream before kept gnawing at him, and his stomach felt tight as he brought his knees to his chest, staring ahead of him blankly. It’d be wise to start moving during the day, especially while Daruk was awake, and he didn’t know where he was going, so he figured he’d have to wait for the morning.

He sat there for a moment, listening to Daruk’s snores that weren’t as distressingly loud now, and he heard a familiar noise to his side. A steward construct was moving towards him, something resting in its large hands.

“Link,” it greeted, bowing slightly and holding out a strange accessory with a capsule in a slot. There were several empty slots beneath it, and Link stood up to grab it. “I failed to give this to you, please take it,” it said, and Link wondered if this was the same construct that gave him the sheikah slate. Link bowed his head slightly in gratitude and the construct copied him, moving away while leaving him confused. What the heck was this thing?

“That’s an energy cell.”

Link spun around to see Rauru watching him. He supposed he should get used to the guy showing up out of nowhere.

“Us Zonai invented technology that are scattered across this island,” Rauru began to explain, “but it runs off of our magic that we stored inside those energy cells. As long as you have that, you can use the technology whenever. But be cautious, because the energy may run out and will need time to recharge.”

Link hummed, clipping the energy cell on his belt next to the slate. It seemed useful enough, though he doubted he’d need to use it. Ultrahand and fuse were helpful enough already.

“It looks like you’re feeling better,” Rauru commented, a gentle smile on his face, “I was worried, but with two light blessings, the next shrines should be easier to move through.”

Link smiled, giving Rauru a grateful nod. He hoped it was the case; he didn’t feel any difference with pain in the two shrines, but if he could feel even a little better with the third one, he’d be perfectly fine.

“Speaking of, where are you headed to next?” Rauru asked, and Link shrugged. The zonai chuckled slightly and pointed to a cave nearby. “There’s a shrine in the colder region around here. If you enter that cave, it’ll put you on a path to it. With three light blessings, you should have enough strength to open the temple.”

Excitement spiked in Link’s chest, and he nodded. He was more than ready to find Zelda and leave. Rauru nodded back, glancing at Daruk and suddenly vanishing. Link stared, slightly confused, until he heard Daruk stir behind him, the goron sitting up with a confused look on his face.

“Who was that?” He asked, and Link held up his new arm. “Oh! Was that the spirit of the arm? Wait a second—” Daruk stood up, staring at the arm and the spot where Rauru was. “Was he the voice that spoke to us earlier?” Link frowned, and Daruk gave him a look. “The arm grabbed you and transported us up here from the castle, and a voice told us that you’d be ok.”

Oh right, Link forgot that Rauru technically spoke to the champions before. Link nodded, confirming Daruk’s suspicions.

“Huh, well I guess he’s on our side then, yeah?”

Link nodded again.

“Well good! We’ll need all the help we can get!” Daruk exclaimed, patting Link gently on the back, which he was grateful for. A normal pat from Daruk would’ve knocked Link out in his current state. “Well, I heard him talk about the shrines. The snowy area is where Revali spends a lot of his time. Hopefully he’s over there!”

Link nodded in agreement, though if he saw Revali, he’d definitely get an earful from the rito for not listening to him. Deep down he was hoping Mipha was there instead, but zora didn’t go to colder areas, so he knew it was false hope. Link looked at Daruk and pointed to the white building, deciding to move on and hoping Daruk understood what he was trying to say.

“You want me to go to the white building?” Daruk asked, and Link nodded. It’d be best if all the champions were together when he got strong enough, though Daruk looked uneasy.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok, little guy? You’re clearly not as strong as you were before.”

Link gave him a reassuring nod, giving Daruk a playful punch, which he probably didn’t feel. Now that he had some rest, he figured he’d be well enough to get to the next shrine, as long as it had no constructs. Daruk didn’t look convinced, but he finally accepted.

“I trust you, just be careful, ok?” He said firmly, and Link smiled, patting the goron’s giant arm. Daruk smiled back and watched as Link faced the direction to the cave, walking towards the mouth and standing for a moment. If there was one thing Link wasn’t at all comfortable with, it was caves. Really, any small space, seeing how it was hard to move around and fight enemies in a smaller area. But he needed to move forward. He gave Daruk a wave and headed inside, immediately feeling the cold and damp air hitting his face. The cave wasn’t as dark as he expected it to be, and he noticed some interesting flora in the cave that he’s never seen before. Granted, he was never one to observe plants like Zelda, but he was well familiar with them. These ones, however, were brand new to him. They looked like closed up seeds, around the size of his hand, and light was emanating from them, covered slightly by the leaves. He couldn’t help but pluck the plants from their spots, pocketing them just in case. Maybe they could be useful in a darker area; caves were normally darker than this one.

Despite his unease, he looked around the cave, curious about other plants that were in there with him, and he spotted a chest against the wall. Opening it with excitement, he found more clothes, this time it being a green and tan sash. Struggling to put it on himself, it seemed to cover half his torso, while his right arm and chest were left bare. It didn’t cover him fully, but it was better than nothing, and the sash was quite comfortable.

Before he could leave the cave, he heard croaking and saw a glowing frog hopping on the ceiling, with it blowing bubbles at Link that pushed him away slightly. He couldn’t help but watch in confusion, curious about what the thing was. He’d never seen anything like it before as it hopped from side to side, blowing bubbles every so often. Deciding not to start a battle, Link held up his hands and backed away, finally leaving the musty cave. Relief swept over him when he felt the fresh air hit him, and he spotted another lake right in front of him. He was going to build another boat like before, but he spotted steward constructs around strange contraptions, and he felt inclined to see what they were up to.

The constructs greeted him and explained zonai technology, which Link remembered for his conversation with Rauru earlier. Deciding to test out the technology, Link built a boat with a supposed fan on the back, and with its activation, strong air blew and sent Link and the boat to the other side with ease. He now understood why Rauru gave him the energy cell, since ultrahand and fuse wouldn’t do much with technology that needed activation.

This journey to the next shrine was going slightly better, with the path being more linear for him as he walked to yet another cave. A minecart rested at the entrance with fans laying beside it, and he immediately used ultrahand to stick the two together. Hopping in the cart, he activated the fan and held tight to the cart as he went flying down the rail. But this cave was much different than the other before, and he was quickly plunged into darkness that sent his heart to his throat.

A string of curses left his mouth as he clung tightly to the cart, ducking down to protect his head as he went flying through the dark cave. If he had known that it’d get this dark, he wouldn’t have jumped into a cart!

Bracing himself, the cart finally hit something that stopped it, and he opened his eyes to see light shining amongst the darkness, with more stewards working. One noticed him and began to float over to him, bowing its head.

“Hello,” it greeted, and Link bowed his head back, crawling out of the minecart. The steward construct gestured for him to follow it to the fiery furnace, allowing Link to see the glowing green ore in the cave.

“I hope you have brightbloom seeds with you,” the construct started, “you’d be lost in here without them.”

Link frowned, not knowing what brightbloom seeds were. The construct pointed to a bundle of the seeds he found before, and he pulled out the ones he pocketed.

“Good, you have some,” the construct said. “If you throw it or attach it to an arrow, it will open and light up the surrounding area. Useful for dark areas like this.”

Link’s mouth fell open, looking at the seed in surprise. That was useful. Clutching the seed in his hand, he reeled his arm back and threw it into the darkness, and just like the steward construct said, it exploded into light, revealing the plants on the cave walls and illuminating the ore. That was very nice; he thought he would have to use the limited light from the seed to see, but he supposed there was a lot more to the plant than he realized. Truthfully, there was a lot more to the island in general.

Giving the construct a grateful bow, Link headed off into the dark cave, using the seeds whenever he needed light. The island was big, but soon everything began to repeat itself to Link. Trees, zonai technology, steward constructs, huts, and soldier constructs seemed to repeat themselves wherever Link went. Until he made it to the snowy area on the island, and he realized that he was woefully unprepared for it. The clothes he was wearing were nice but they were not built for colder climates. They barely covered his skin as it was! Looking at the snow, then back at where he came from, he let out a sigh. He was losing his patience, and he didn’t want to go on another fetch quest to find warmer clothes. He was just going to have to bear it.

Letting out a breath, Link ran into the snow, immediately feeling the frigid cold on his bare skin. His toes went numb immediately as the snow piled onto them, and Link wanted to simply curl up, but he kept going. He couldn’t stop moving, or else he’d freeze to death. Running through the snow, Link avoided constructs and ice chuchus, running into caves that were pleasantly warmer than the outside, and eventually he found himself staring at an ice wall, the shrine sitting right on top of it.

Link was a remarkable climber, but not even he would be able to climb up the icy walls that led to the shrine he needed to get to. He circled the shrine, staring up at it in frustration and trying to think of ways for him to climb up there. Just as he was about to find something to use his ultrahand on, he heard familiar flapping behind him, and a cursing rito landed right next to him. Link turned to him and smiled at Revali, who was glaring back at him with his wings crossed.

“Is that thick skull of yours incapable of listening or something?” He started to shout, getting close to Link and pointing his wings at him. “I told you to stay put! And what do I find when I return to get you? Absolutely nothing!”

Revali’s wing swung in frustration, his other one resting on his waist. Link simply looked down, expecting this anger from Revali, but he couldn’t sit around no matter how injured he was. The rito had to understand that.

“And look at you! You’re wearing absolutely nothing!” Revali looked at Link’s clothes, a disgusted look on his face. “You must be stupid or something traveling through here in that!”

Link sighed, already annoyed with the conversation, and he turned to look at the shrine. Revali finally stopped ranting and looked up to where Link stared, and he let out a sigh.

“Do you need to go up there?” He asked, rather begrudgingly, and Link nodded, hoping he’d at least give him a ride. Revali rolled his eyes and let out a groan, crossing his wings and facing away. “Because you almost died before I’ll help you up there. Just this once though, you hear?”

Link gave him a grateful nod, waiting for Revali to kneel down for him to climb onto his back or something, but instead the rito took to the skies, grabbing what little fabric Link had on him in his talons and plopping him right next to the shrine. Link let out a grunt as he fell to his side, his skin going numb from touching the snow, and he scrambled to his feet to give Revali a glare.

“What? I got you up here, didn’t I?”

Link sighed, moving towards the magic circle, activating it, and entering the shrine, not caring about Revali’s reaction to the sudden opening. Once again, he braced himself for the pain, but to his relief, the pain had subsided a bit, at least a bit more compared to the last two shrines. However, he was still in excruciating pain, and he inhaled sharply.

“This is it, Link.” Rauru appeared before him, holding out his hand. “Just this one and you’ll be able to enter the Temple of Time.”

Motivated to reunite with the princess, Link held out his hand, the dizziness already beginning to overwhelm him, and the magic sunk itself into the palm. Link glanced up at Rauru, waiting for an explanation. He was almost excited to see what this new ability was.

“What you just received is the ascend ability,” Rauru began to explain, “it lets you travel through what’s directly above you—to ascend through it and emerge on top of it. You’ll find it quite useful in all sorts of places and situations.”

Link looked down at his hand. That did sound useful, but he wondered how he’d be able to do it.

“Come, Link, test it out here,” Rauru invited, guiding him to a low-hanging ceiling. “Jump straight through and you’ll be on top of it. It comes naturally, trust me.”

Link let out a breath, pointed his right arm to the ceiling, and jumped. Landing on his feet, Link looked down at his arm and up at Rauru, confused.

“Make sure you focus magic on yourself and where you’ll want to go,” Rauru added, and he nodded, pointing his arm again and jumping weakly. Once again, he landed on his feet, not ascending through anything. Link gave Rauru a pleading look, having no strength to struggle through this. Rauru nodded and pointed at the ceiling, his tall figure reaching it with ease. “You need the magic to essentially soften the ceiling. It will temporarily turn it into zonai magic, allowing you to travel through. Start by focusing the magic on the ceiling.”

Link pointed to the ceiling, focusing the familiar magic of the ultrahand and fuse on the spot he was looking up. His arm quickly began to tingle, burning from it being raised, but he tried to focus. The arm glowed, the green magic leaving it and resting on the ceiling. Soon a green circle rippled right above Link, and Rauru let out a hum of approval.

“That’s it. Do you see that circle? That’s the path you will be allowed to travel through. Now ascend.”

Link nodded, letting out a small exhale before imagining the magic reaching down to him, and he suddenly felt himself being pulled up into the green circle. He held his breath instinctively, closing his eyes as if he were jumping into water, but instead he found himself in a strange green world, swirls of zonai magic surrounding him. He was able to breathe normally, but he certainly didn’t feel normal. There was something pressing down on him, making it feel like he was underwater, and he realized he was hanging halfway down the ceiling. With a strong kick, Link was able to fully enter the ceiling, his hand guiding him through the zonai magic. Kicking his legs made the small trip go faster, and soon a bright light appeared from the end of the ceiling, and Link found himself halfway emerged, the magic still rippling through the ceiling.

“Look at that, you ascended,” Rauru cheered, a small smile on his face. Link smiled back, dragging himself out of the strange dimension below. “Told you it came naturally.”

Link certainly wouldn’t consider it coming natural to him—it felt very odd—but he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find it fascinating. The rest of the shrine was simply jumping through ceilings and getting from place to place, with it being relatively simple for him. Though, unlike ultrahand and fuse, it required a lot of physical effort to successfully travel through, and by the end he was downright exhausted, once again feeling like he was about to pass out. But at least he wasn’t cold anymore.

“Nice work. You have some natural talent to you,” Rauru said, giving Link a proud look. “You’re strong, and it’s no wonder why you’re called the hero.��

Link stared for a moment, his brows furrowed as Rauru looked away. How did he know he was the hero? Of course, before Link could even attempt in asking him about it, Rauru disappeared before his eyes, as if not wanting to explain his comment, and Link was left alone in front of the statues. He hesitated for a moment in front of the green circle, knowing what was to come once the light blessing appeared, but he pushed forward, knowing that it would do nothing but help him. Touching the magic circle, the statues were once again revealed, the light blessing appearing before him. Not wasting one second, Link reached for the light blessing, gritting his teeth as the gloom within him squirmed and wriggled against it. He grabbed the light blessing finally, the gloom being forced out of him as the light warmed his whole being, and he was sent away out of the shrine.

The cold shocked him to his core, and he practically crumpled to the ground as his whole body went numb. He made a grave mistake coming here without any winter clothes, that was for sure.

“Well well, look who decided to finally return.”

Link looked up to see Revali simply standing above him, an annoyed look on his face.

“You could’ve warned me before you decided to march right into that shrine! Honestly, do you know how confused I was standing out here? Not knowing whether to leave or stay? What were you doing in there anyways?”

Link swallowed, standing up slowly and giving him a glare. The last thing he needed was to appear vulnerable in front of Revali, so he attempted to hide his shivering. Which didn’t work. The rito stared at him bemused, looking up and down his frozen figure, and he let out an annoyed sigh.

“You’re so pathetic, climb on.” Revali turned around and knelt to the ground, inviting Link to climb onto his back. “This is the only time I’m allowing this, you hear?”

Link stared for a moment, debating on actually taking Revali’s offer, but the cold convinced him and he was quickly on the rito’s back. Admittedly, he was a little worried about his weight against him—Revali wasn’t exactly the biggest or strongest rito around, and Link was almost the same size as him. But he took to the skies safely, gliding down to the warmer region in front of the Temple of Time. The two landed, and Link slid off of Revali’s back, giving him a grateful pat while the rito let out a groan.

“Ugh, my back,” he complained, and Link rolled his eyes.

“Hey!”

The voices of Urbosa and Daruk calling to them drew their attention, and they all met up with each other.

“Did you do it? Did you visit the shrines?” Urbosa asked breathlessly, and Link nodded, holding up his arm.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Revali asked.

“Link needed to visit the shrines of the island to get into the white building,” Urbosa quickly explained, already turning to it.

“Wait, what?” Revali turned to Link. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped out more, you know!”

“Oh quit your squawking, Revali. Let’s just get into the temple and find Zelda!”

“Hold on.” Daruk stopped, holding out his hands to stop everyone. “What about little Mipha? She needs to be here too, right?”

It grew silent, and Urbosa turned to Link. “Did you ever see Mipha?”

Link shook his head, and she nodded.

“Alright. Revali, go find Mipha. We’re going to get into the building.”

Revali seemed hesitant, but he knew better than to argue with Urbosa, and he took to the skies once again with the others watching.

“Come on Link, let’s get Zelda,” Urbosa pressed, practically dragging him to the Temple of Time. Once again in front of the large, white doors, Link touched the magic circle gently. He admittedly was feeling anxious—whether it was nervousness or excitement, he didn’t know—and the magic circle giving way made his heartbeat spike. It opened.

The doors shuttered, dust and particles falling into their faces as they moved apart, and finally, they were inside. The lighting was warm, with the sound of wheels turning straight ahead of them, and a glowing stone floating right before them.

“Zelda? ZELDA!” Daruk called out, moving away in an attempt to find the princess, and Urbosa did the same.

“Zelda! We’re here!” She yelled, but there was no response. While the two scrambled around the temple, Link’s eyes were fixated on the stone, as if it were beckoning for him to come closer, and he reached out to touch it.

Before his very eyes, the room he was in disappeared, replaced by an ethereal plane with fog covering everything, except for him and her—Zelda.

Link’s eyes widened when he saw her, but he didn’t move, for her behavior confused him. She was floating above the ground, her chin pointed high, and her eyes closed. Her hands were clutched at her chest as if holding something, and when he stepped closer, her arm held out to him. Link stared, his brows furrowed as if he’d never seen such a thing before. Cautiously resting the new hand in hers, a golden light appeared from her, traveling from her arm to his. Then she let go, her hand returning to her other one, still not looking at Link to his confusion. Glancing down, Link noticed a symbol appearing on his hand, right in the center within the circular jewelry. He looked back up at Zelda, opening his mouth to ask her what was going on, but instead the world around him vanished, and he found himself back in the Temple of Time, with a baffled looking Urbosa and Daruk watching him.

“What was that? What happened?” Urbosa asked, and Link looked up to find the stone gone.

“Where is she? I thought she’d be here!” Daruk said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“I thought the same thing, but she’s clearly not.”

“No… no wait, there’s a door up ahead!” Daruk pointed to a large door on the higher level, and he and Urbosa wasted no time in running to it, effortlessly climbing over the wheels and running to it while Link simply stayed behind, his eyes on his hand. It all felt strange to him, the way Zelda acted before, the strange temple, everything. In a way, he almost felt… sad. They weren’t going to find Zelda here.

“Link.”

He turned to see Rauru watching him, a confused expression on his face as he watched Daruk and Urbosa try to open the door.

“It seems you got a new ability,” he muttered, gesturing to his hand. Link looked down again, staring at the strange symbol. “It’s recall: the ability to reverse the movement of an object through time.”

Link watched him, almost desperate for him to answer his questions, but Rauru simply sighed.

“What you just saw before, is a mystery even to me. I was expecting Zelda to be here as well, but it seems that isn’t the case.” He faced where the stone used to be, his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps it was a sort of echo—one that reflects her sheer will.”

Rauru’s voice was low and quiet, almost as if he were speaking out of respect, and he stood motionless for a while. The sounds of Urbosa and Daruk struggling filled the air, and after a long moment, Rauru turned to Link.

“I wish I could teach you how to use recall, but that was an ability I never learned to use. But it no doubt will prove useful to you.”

Link nodded, moving to join Urbosa and Daruk, but Rauru quickly stopped him.

“The door they are trying to open tests your vitality. They cannot open it, but you can. Yet you remain in a weakened state and will fall before you are able to do so.”

Link practically felt himself slump, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. What was the point of everything he just went through? What was the reason he was sent to run across the floating island, if he got nothing out of it? He thought they’d find Zelda, he thought they’d be able to leave and find out what was happening to Hyrule, but were they to remain stuck here? All because Link wasn’t… strong enough?

Rauru picked up on his despair, and he let out a small laugh. “Do not fret, Link. There is one more shrine on this island. I didn’t think it’d be needed, but I see now I was wrong.” Rauru turned to look up into the sky, with Link following his gaze. “The shrine is where you first awoke. I’m sure if you get the light blessing, you may find your way forward. And you may find Zelda.”

Link stared, hope sparking within him once again. It was small, but it was better than nothing. The flapping of wings interrupted them, and Rauru once again vanished before him as Revali landed.

“You got it open!” He exclaimed, his eyes looking around before landing on Link. “Did you find Zelda?”

Link shook his head solemnly, and he looked around Revali to see if he could spot Mipha. He didn’t.

“I searched high and low. I couldn’t find Mipha,” Revali explained as Link searched. “I’m sorry.”

She must be where the last shrine is, Link thought, looking up at the sky. He turned to Revali and pointed at the highest sky island, hoping he’d understand what he was trying to say.

“You… want up?”

Link nodded.

Revali gave him an annoyed look. “I told you, it was a one time thing! I’m not flying you around like some… chauffeur!”

“What’s going on?”

The two saw Urbosa walking towards them, her brows furrowed as she stared. Link pointed at the sky again, which she looked to.

“Is there another shrine?”

Link nodded.

“Will this get us past that door?”

He nodded again.

Urbosa frowned, looking right at Revali. “You fly him up there, understand? We need to get to Zelda and the only way is for Link to get stronger!”

Revali scoffed, turning away with his wings crossed, but he listened to Urbosa and knelt to the ground.

“Fine! I’m only doing this for Zelda though, so don’t get used to this!”

Link climbed atop Revali once again, giving Urbosa a nod as Revali took to the skies. He could tell the rito was struggling to reach the height they needed to, but with the help of the wind, the two landed back on the island Link first woke up on, right on the platform that he dived off of before.

“Is this the place?” Revali asked, and Link nodded, heading into the building. “I’ll see you at the temple then.”

Link looked behind him and gave Revali a nod, and he ran, desperate to get to the final shrine. It was much more difficult moving through the place compared to the first time, with him not only having to swim, but also having to climb up walls to reach where he needed to get to. It took a moment, but Link finally found himself in the big room where the gears turned, and right in front of him, he spotted a small, red zora, with her back facing to him.

“Mipha!” Link exclaimed, and she spun around, her mouth agape and her eyes wide. Unable to hold himself back, Link sprinted to her, her meeting him halfway, and he scooped her up into a hug and spun her around. Finally…

“Link! You’re ok!” Mipha cried, her arms tight around his neck as if she were afraid to let him go. The two held each other for a long moment, relishing in each other’s presence, until Link pulled back and pressed his lips against hers. She practically melted into the kiss, the world around them disappearing as they only focused on each other.

Mipha finally pulled away, her eyes wide and frantically searching his body. “What happened? I saw this building open and I tried to find you, but you weren’t here. I was so worried.”

Link gave her a peck and rested his head against hers. “I’m sorry. I would’ve stayed if I had known.”

Mipha shook her head, a smile on her small lips. “I’m just relieved to see you alright. When we arrived here you…” Mipha sighed, looking down. “You were on the verge of death. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t heal you.”

Link frowned, watching her hands rub against his chest anxiously. It must’ve been the gloom that stopped her magic, which made him nervous. Was light magic the only way to survive the substance?

“Your arm!”

Link looked down at his arm for the millionth time, Mipha tracing her delicate fingers along the markings and jewelry.

“It’s not mine,” Link explained, “I’m borrowing it.”

Mipha stared, his quick explanation clearly explaining nothing for her. He chuckled slightly, pulling the arm away and taking a small step back.

“It saved my life. Don’t worry.”

Mipha didn’t look relieved, but she still smiled, her beautiful and small smile. Ever since the Calamity, the two had chosen to spend more time together, knowing that they almost lost the chance to when it first attacked. He was nervous to do so—he didn’t know how he was going to feel, how he was going to be treated by others, and how the friendship between him and Mipha would change. But it changed for the better. Mipha moved things slow, which was exactly what he needed, and her strong, comforting personality made spending time with her incredible. He always felt drained around others, needing alone time whenever he got too fatigued to play the role of the hero, but Mipha took that stress and obligation away from him, almost making him feel refreshed whenever he spent time with her. Safe to say, he’s fallen madly in love with her over the past few months.

“Do the other champions know?” Mipha asked after a moment of silence, and Link nodded.

“I saw them all. I’ve been collecting light blessings to regain my strength that the gloom took from me.”

Mipha frowned. “Is it helping?”

“Yes. The only way to dispel the gloom from me is with these light blessings.” Link shuffled his feet, looking up at the turning gears. “I need to go to one more shrine to get through a door at a white building, where we can hopefully find out about Zelda.”

“Zelda!” Mipha covered her mouth, standing close to Link. “The others theorized that she’d be in the large white building. Do you think she’s there?”

Link sighed, looking down at the ground. It was all so complicated, so much so he couldn’t really understand what was going on. He turned to Mipha after a moment and gestured to the gears.

“Help me up there and I’ll tell you everything,” he said simply, and Mipha nodded, wrapping an arm around Link’s waist and summoning a strong fountain of water, allowing the two to jump onto the tall ledge. And Link explained everything to Mipha as they walked. Rauru, the shrines, the temple, the constructs, and Zelda in the strange realm from earlier. He explained it all while she listened intently, staring straight ahead while they walked. They were able to reach the final shrine, and Mipha finally decided to speak up.

“So… Zelda isn’t here then?” She asked glumly, and Link sighed, shaking his head solemnly. The others still had hope, but the weird vision he had before made him believe otherwise. It was too strange…

Link walked up to the shrine, activating the magic circle and creating an opening. He turned to Mipha, gesturing for her to stay put, and she nodded, though rather reluctantly.

“Please be careful, Link,” she pleaded, and he nodded, smiling at her and heading inside. As much as he’d love to bring her with him, it’d just be too much to worry about. Especially when the familiar pain of the gloom flared up inside him appeared, causing him to waver. Though he didn’t stumble this time around.

“Link.”

He looked up to see Rauru once again watching him, but he didn’t gesture for him to hold up his hand. Instead he turned towards the shrine where many gears and wheels appeared.

“I’m not sure how much help I can be with this new ability of yours,” he muttered, his hands fidgeting with each other. “It was an ability my… my wife had.”

Link stared, immediately thinking back to the Hylian statue that stood next to him at the end of the shrines. This was the first time Rauru mentioned her.

Rauru sucked in a breath and nodded, clearly pushing aside his emotions. “From what I understand, she simply turned the time on an object and returned them to their original place.” He turned to the wheels turning in the shrine, and he pointed at them. “I’m sure you could make them spin the opposite direction to get where you need to go. But, I’m afraid that’s all I can share with you.”

Link nodded, grateful for the advice. He stepped closer to the wheels, staring for a long moment as they turned. If Rauru didn’t have this ability, then it probably wasn’t based on the zonai magic he was becoming used to, which would make things tricky. For a few minutes, Link stood in front of the wheel, trying to connect to it to reverse time, but it wasn’t having it, stubbornly turning the way it was originally intended. Link was growing frustrated at the lack of progress, his body growing weaker and weaker the longer he was in the shrine, all while Rauru watched from the side. He seemed more down this time around, not speaking up or giving any encouragement he gave before. Link did want a little bit more support, but he didn’t want to make Rauru agitated. So he suffered in silence, trying to activate the recall ability. After a moment, he sighed, rubbing his aching head. He was getting nowhere…

“Link…”

Link opened his eyes, looking up and around the shrine. The voice from before, the feminine one, said his name. He strained his long ears, trying to hear the voice again, glancing at Rauru to see if he noticed, but he didn’t.

“Link,” the voice spoke up again, and he looked up at the ceiling of the shrine, listening intently. “Try to connect to the wheel in front of you. Allow it to tell you where it once was…”

Link blinked, once again turning to Rauru to see if he reacted, but he didn’t. Instead the zonai was staring into space. Link turned back to the wheel, taking the voice’s advice to heart, and he held out his hand, closing his eyes. It felt awkward, opening himself up to something speaking to him, but it worked. In his mind, he saw a vision of where the wheel once was, the time reversing for him to see the path it went. As if pressing the screen on the Sheikah slate, Link touched the wheel in the vision, and when he opened his eyes, the world around him was frozen, the wheel beginning to reverse back to its previous state. With a gasp, Link quickly jumped onto it, allowing it to carry him forward. He landed on his feet when he got over the wheel, and Rauru appeared right beside him.

“It looks like you figured it out. Nice work,” he congratulated, a small smile on his face. “It should be easy from here on out.”

Link nodded and began to move through the shrine, using his other abilities and recall to his advantage. Rauru was quiet for most of the shrine, save for the few words of encouragement, but when Link used recall again, he finally spoke up.

“So… you and that zora girl?” he asked, and Link spun around with his face growing warm. Rauru chuckled, raising a hand in defense. “You must forgive me, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop. It’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”

Link looked down, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Though Link felt rather attached to Mipha, being public with her still made him (and her) feel uneasy. There was a stigma around the races of Hyrule intermingling, and they knew they would be met with scorn if people found out about them. Link especially was anxious over it, with enough eyes already watching and judging him. Rauru picked up on his uneasiness and he looked away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s clear you mean a lot to each other.” Link nodded slightly, still feeling uneasy. Rauru closed his eyes, going silent for a moment. “Keep a watchful eye on her. Keep her safe.”

Link paused, looking up at him. There was pain in his voice, a hurt expression on his face, and he suddenly disappeared before Link, right when they arrived at the end. The more time he spent with Rauru, the more confusing the zonai got for him.

As soon as Link got the light blessing, the gloom was sent out of him and he was taken back to the entrance, where Mipha waited patiently. As soon as she saw him, she rushed to his side, helping him stand as he wavered slightly.

“Are you alright? You were in there for so long!” Mipha asked, grabbing onto him and pulling him close. Link nodded, too tired to speak, and he began moving to an opening, knowing that it was time to return to the temple. He didn’t think they’d find Zelda, but he knew that they would find something important. Mipha simply followed, not pressing for him to speak further, and they stepped outside to find themselves by strange bird-contraptions. Mipha wasted no time in leading Link to it, and she positioned it against the slope so it would glide off. Link helped her, not knowing what she was doing, and when he gave her a look, she finally explained herself.

“These things glide through the air! I take it we need to go to the white building, yes?”

Link nodded, understanding now what Mipha was trying to do, and the couple pushed the bird down the slope, both clinging on for dear life as it flew off of the island, and they were airborne.

“It’s a bit terrifying… I will admit,” Mipha yelled out against the wind, her voice shaking slightly, and Link wrapped his arm around her to keep her more secure. She giggled and rested her head against his shoulder, noticeably relaxing into him. “Thank you.”

Link helped lean the glider forwards so it would reach the temple faster, and soon they landed right in front of the temple, where the rest of the champions waited. They let him walk past him, and he soon began reversing time for the gears on the side, climbing over them and jogging up to a Hylia statue. He was about to move past it until it spoke to him.

“Hero, give me your light blessings, and I will make you stronger.”

Link paused, staring at the statue for a long moment, almost not hearing the words. Unlike the voice from the shrine, there was no voice, but more of a feeling saying things to him. Walking closer to the statue, he bowed his head slightly and prayed to the goddesses, not knowing what he was praying about. A warm feeling enveloped him as he prayed, and he felt the gloom moving in his body once again. But instead of it fighting back against the light, it felt like it was shriveling up, simply not powerful enough to fight back against the divine light. Then the feeling disappeared, and Link watched as more gloom left his body, his entire being feeling stronger than before.

“What was that?” He heard Revali ask from behind him, and Link stared at his hands, walking up to the door and pushing it with all his might. He felt the strength within him beginning to leave, but just as he was about to collapse, the door budged open, and they could see out in front of them.

The champions were all silent as they walked past the large door, the sun setting behind the horizon, giving the sky a beautiful orange hue. A structure stood in front of them with glowing magic swirling on a pedestal, and just as Link expected, there was no Zelda.

“There’s nothing here,” Daruk commented, disappointment in his voice.

The others remained silent, but Revali flew to the structure, with everyone following closely behind, save for Link.

“I’m glad to see that you were able to open the door,” Rauru’s voice was heard behind him, and Link turned to see him standing against the wall, staring at the newly opened door. He turned back to Link. “Are you feeling better? You seem to have more strength in your step.”

Link nodded, admittedly feeling a little better, though not back to normal. Rauru stared for a moment, then nodded.

“You haven’t fully recovered, but that was to be expected. You were almost beyond saving.”

Link instinctively looked down at his arm, knowing how the gloom felt within him before. It really didn’t surprise him.

“The shrines and light blessings were able to remove most of the gloom ailing you, which is a good thing,” Rauru continued, and his gaze softened. “I’m glad to have finally met you. You’re just as Zelda said.”

Link frowned, his curiosity getting the better of him. “How do you know Zelda?” He asked, and Rauru’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled at him.

“She came into my life when Hyrule was just beginning to grow,” he simply answered, looking out into the dimming orange sky. “The Zelda you know was taken to the past, my era, the founding of Hyrule. But that was a long time ago, I do not know where she is now.”

Link blinked, staring at Rauru for a moment. “In… the past?” He repeated, and Rauru nodded.

“Yes. Zelda has a lot of power within her. Divine light magic, and time magic. She sent herself to the founding of Hyrule when she took my secret stone.” Rauru looked at him, a serious look in his eyes. “Link, listen closely. During my life, I fought the Gerudo King Ganondorf, one who stole power that didn’t belong to him and tried to destroy my kingdom.”

Dread rested within Link’s stomach, immediately thinking about Calamity Ganon, one who nearly destroyed everything he loved.

“I was only able to seal him away,” Rauru continued, “for many centuries it seems, but he broke free, and now your era is danger.” Rauru’s breath hitched, and he looked down in shame. “I am part to blame for it. I have passed on, and I cannot move freely as a spirit, but I am attached to my arm. Please…” Rauru bowed down to Link, and he couldn’t help but step back. “Please, let me fix the mistake I made, let me help you defeat him once and for all.”

Link stared at Rauru for a long moment, in shock from everything he was just told. Zelda was in the past it seemed, but would she be able to return? And the name Ganondorf, was that the corpse from before? From what it sounded like, Rauru was a king, possibly the first king of Hyrule. Ancient history was merging with the present, and Link didn’t feel like he was well enough to deal with it.

“Ok,” Link finally said, and Rauru looked up at him, a smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he disappeared before Link’s eyes. Looking down at his arm, Link could practically feel Rauru’s presence in there. It was probably why he was always near Link, finding him whenever he needed to. Turning to the champions, Link jogged to where they were, climbing and jumping over the broken bridge. Using ascend, Link was able to reach the platform the champions stood on, and they all jumped back in surprise.

“Link!” Urbosa yelled, watching as he crawled out of the floor. “Since when could you do that?”

Link pointed to his arm, then stared at the glowing yellow magic before him. The champions decidedly moved past the zonai magic Link now had, and Mipha gestured to it.

“We’re trying to figure out what it is. We can’t help but feel some connection to Zelda with it.”

Link looked over at Mipha, then at the magic, and he suddenly felt the presence of the decayed Master Sword on his back. The sword chimed weakly, matching the pulsing light of the magic, and Link pulled out the sword. The chiming grew stronger, and the magic grew brighter, and when the two touched, the night sky around him faded into a bright blue sky, where Zelda watched with a shocked look on her face. The sword disappeared from Link’s hands, and reappeared into Zelda’s outstretched ones. She gasped when it landed, staring in amazement at the decayed sword, acting like her curious self once again. Her hand traced along the blade, listening to the chiming of the spirit within, and she hugged it, determination on her face. Then she was gone once again, and Link was back with the champions, the sky completely dark now.

“What happened to the sword?” Daruk asked in amazement, and Link looked down to find that indeed, the Master Sword was gone. Before he could even think about what happened, however, a loud boom was heard, along with a loud roar, and the champions all turned to see the white dragon descending to the sky, the clouds parting for it. The clouds all faded away, revealing their land of Hyrule, and the dragon cried out again, diving to the land below as if leading them to it. The champions all watched in amazement, and the familiar sound of the princess’s voice was heard.

“You must find me.”

The dragon flew further and further away from them as the champions stared, and Link turned to look at all of them. His eyes locked with Urbosa’s, and they both nodded in agreement. They could finally leave the island.

“Champions,” Urbosa started, stepping closer to the edge with her hands on her hips. “Let’s get to Hyrule.”

#king of the gerudo #smiles writes #age of calamity #legend of zelda #legend of zelda au #zelda au #miphlink #I was so disappointed when Rauru wasn't a companion so #Companion Rauru it is!#tears of the kingdom spoilers #whoops #tears of the kingdom

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